


Trusting You

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9516848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Buffy sets out to prove to Spike that he doesn't trust her... or maybe that he shouldn't. Things don't go exactly as she plans.Warnings: some dub-con involved, bondage, violence, general darkness here





	1. Chapter 1

The soft clink of the small metal object swinging slowly from Spike’s long, graceful fingers was the only sound in the shocked silence that followed his provocative question. Buffy’s eyes widened as she stared at the pair of handcuffs for a long moment, before meeting his eyes again, aghast at the question and its implications – at least outwardly.

Spike did not appear the least bit embarrassed or phased by the turn the conversation had taken – he shouldn’t, she supposed, considering that he was the one who had steered it that way – but just watched her intently, calmly, silently waiting for her response.

She debated over what to say, staring again at the handcuffs in his hand, and trying to ignore the increase in her arousal caused by imagining all the deliciously dirty things she and Spike could do with them. She glanced furtively at Spike again, hoping the heavy lingering scent of their recent antics would mask her reaction to his suggestion.

If it failed to – Spike did not show it. He just kept waiting patiently for her reaction.

For a moment, she allowed herself to actually consider the question. Did she trust Spike? The answer that rose in her mind automatically was “depends”, though she did not speak it aloud. She *did* trust him, she admitted to herself silently – with some things.

With being her backup in a life or death battle situation?

Yes.

With protecting her little sister’s life, keeping Dawn safe when she herself could not be there to do it?

Absolutely.

Even with her own emotional vulnerability, her confusion following her resurrection, she had trusted Spike enough to open up to him, to begin to allow him to be her friend – for a short time. Until “this” had started.

She had no name for it, as she had informed him just moments before. It was simply “this”. But even in “this”, she had to admit that she knew deep down, if she were to surrender to what he was suggesting, he would never use it as an opportunity to hurt her.

Unless she wanted him to.

Still, somehow, she could not bring herself to submit to such a thing. It was the one thing she had left that she could not let him or anyone else have – control. She had relinquished her control, given in to her feelings, once before.

And it had ended in heartache and hell.

So – could she trust him with the last thing she had to hold onto, now that everything she held precious had been stripped from her? Could she find the courage to surrender control to Spike – or anyone else – ever again?

“Never,” she softly spoke the answer to his question – and then quickly looked down again, wanting to avoid the look of clear pain that instantly appeared in his eyes at her response.

The brief flash of hurt was all he allowed himself to reveal, for the moment, rising abruptly to his feet, tossing the handcuffs carelessly to the floor with a loud, abrasive clatter as he grabbed his jeans and began putting them on with much greater force than was necessary.

Hurt had been quickly disguised with fury.

“Bloody typical,” he snarled in a low voice, his back turned to her – but in the stillness that had settled over the room, she could clearly hear his words, and the pain he was trying so hard – but failing – to hide.

“What?” she demanded defensively, glaring up at him with defiance in her eyes. She knew very well what had him so upset, but was not ready to admit fault just yet. “What’s typical?”

“You!” he snapped, whirling around on her as he struggled to button his jeans, his hands trembling and uncoordinated with sheer rage that he was allowing to build, to help to defend his already wounded emotions. “This is just typical of *you*, Slayer! Doesn’t matter how hard I bloody try – how many times I help save you and your soddin’ Scoobies or look out for the Bit or do whatever I bloody well can to prove it to you – you still think I’m just waiting to get this bleedin’ doohickey out of my head so I can turn around and drain the lot of you dry!”

The resentment, the wounded sound in his voice made her feel guilty for what she had said – and guilt was just one more burden that she did not need at the moment. She couldn’t seem to feel anything else lately – why should she have to feel guilty? She could feel her own anger rising up within her, a defensive reaction to being called on her mistakes, and she recklessly decided to just let it go – it wasn’t as if she could make the situation much worse.

“Oh, please, Spike! You’re a *vampire*, I’m the Slayer. What do you expect?” she sneered, her tone derisive. “It’s kind of the natural order of things, isn’t it? I’d be *crazy* to trust you!”

Okay – so she *could* make it worse. A *lot* worse.

She almost flinched herself when Spike drew back sharply, his eyes wide, his lips parted in stunned reaction to her words. He looked almost as if she had slapped him in the face – and that was a look she should recognize, as many times as she had seen it.

*I’m sorry,* came to her mind – but she choked it back, refusing to allow the words to pass her lips as she looked away again.

For once, the blonde vampire seemed struck speechless – and that was just another clue as to just how upset he was, as he turned his back to her and reached for his rumpled black t-shirt.

“Oh come on,” Buffy muttered defensively, still trying to find a way to justify her thoughtless words. “Like *you* trust *me*!” she pointed out sarcastically.

The vampire froze for a moment before turning to face her, an indignant look on his face. “I do!” he declared, his voice just a hint defensive.

“Yeah,” Buffy scoffed with a harsh little laugh. “Right.”

She swallowed back a sudden unexpected lump of emotion that rose in her throat, rising suddenly and turning her back to him. Suddenly, she was the one who did not want her emotions to be all-too-visible on her face. The thought that he might actually trust her – after the way she had been using him, the times she had hurt him – made her feel beyond guilty.

And *that* made her angry.

“I do!” Spike insisted, eyes wide with surprise that she did not believe him, crossing the room in an instant and coming up behind her as she pulled her own jeans on, her back still pointedly turned to him as she reached for her blouse. “I *do* trust you, love!”

Buffy could hear it in his voice. *God, he means it!* she thought, feeling a funny little ache building in her chest at the thought. This vampire, her mortal enemy, whom she had hurt and mistreated for the past couple of months – said that he *trusted* her? How could he trust her, after everything that had happened?

The answer was simple – he didn’t.

Her back still turned to him, Buffy spoke softly, her hands sliding into her pockets and her shoulders slumping slightly, her head bowed. “You really do, Spike?”

“I do,” he repeated in a soft but emphatic voice as he came around in front of her, needing to see her face, to know what she was thinking. “I trust you, Buffy. With my life.”

A small secretive smile began to form on her lips, but tinged with bitterness as she thought to herself that he could not have chosen any better words for the point she was about to make.

As his soft, strong hand reached to gently take her arm, the Slayer moved very quickly, spinning them around and pushing him so that his back hit the wall several feet away from her. She stared at him intently for a moment as she strode purposefully toward him, reaching into her back pocket as she did and taking out a stake.

His eyes widened as he tried to process what she was doing, and why. It just didn’t make sense – he hadn’t done anything. But as she reached him, instinct took over, and his hand shot up to catch her wrist, freezing the deadly weapon less than an inch from his chest.

He realized the instant that he touched her that he was not really holding her back; her hand had already stopped before he caught her wrist. His eyes widened as he took in the strangely sad look of satisfaction in her empty, achingly sorrowful eyes – and he realized the little test she had been putting him too – too late.

He had already failed it.

“See?” she said softly, a note of regret to her voice as she pocketed the stake again and turned away to button up her shirt. “You don’t trust me.” She was silent for a moment, as she gathered up the last of her belongings and headed toward the door. She paused, looking back at him for a moment to add quietly, “And you shouldn’t.”

He finally managed to recover from his shock of the situation enough to follow after her, voicing his objections. “Now, wait just a bloody minute, Slayer, that’s not fair! What kind of a test is that? That was a bloody reflex, pet! You can’t base anything off a reflex!”

She knew in her heart that he was right. The test had not really been fair. But it had served to dramatically illustrate her point and get her out of the situation, and she really didn’t feel like discussing it any further at the moment.

“Spike – just go home,” she said in a tired voice, as she made her way quickly toward her own house, with an incensed vampire determined to change her mind, close behind her and trying to keep up. “If you thought I was gonna stake you, then that proves you don’t trust me. So I don’t trust you, you don’t trust me – we’re even. Just – let it go.”

“No!” he snapped, grabbing her arm and spinning her around again to face him. “You haven’t proved anything here, love! I *do* trust you! But that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned anything in a hundred and twenty years. And lesson number one is, "You see a pointed piece of wood heading straight toward your heart at ninety miles an hour – you better bloody well stop it or get out of the way!”

She stopped, glaring pointedly down at his hand on her arm until he finally relented enough to let her go. “Touch me again,” she said in a low, calm but dangerous voice, “and I *will* stake you, Spike.”

He had heard it a million times before; that threat was nowhere near as hurtful as the words she spoke next, with a cold smile.

“Still trust me now?”

He stood there, stunned, as she turned and walked away from him toward her house, taking the opportunity to get away and get home.

Finally he found his voice, calling after her emphatically, “*Yes*! I bloody well do trust you, Buffy! And if you think you’ve got something to prove, you’re gonna have to come up with a better test than that to prove it!”

She ignored him, disappearing around the corner – and out of his life again, until the next time she decided that she wanted him in hers again.

By the next night, Spike still had not worked off the anger of his disastrous encounter with the Slayer the night before. He was busy pouring a bit of the excess energy into one of the two things he knew he could still do better than most – fighting demons.

The other – well – he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get the chance to practice tonight. Not if Buffy was still determined to act like a raging bloody bitch.

He was currently taking on a small gang of fledgling vamps, about six or seven of them – hardly even a challenge, but something to do. He dispatched most of them quickly, and then took his time with the last one, who seemed to fancy himself the leader of the pathetic pack.

As the dust of the final vampire settled around him, he pocketed his stake, feeling a vague sense of satisfaction at the victory that was still somehow – well – unsatisfying.

*Just face it, mate…* he chided himself glumly as he turned back toward his crypt. *You’d rather be doing…*

His thoughts were cut off as he was suddenly knocked off his feet from behind, thinking as he went down that he had thought he had killed them all already. He quickly rolled over onto his back to face his unknown assailant, one fist ready to strike out and take the unfortunate fledgling down – because certainly only a foolish fledge would dare to attack a master vampire such as him in such a way.

A foolish fledge – or a Slayer.

His eyes widened as he realized who it was that had literally swept him off his feet.

“Buffy,” he whispered, preparing to say more, to ask her what he’d done, what was going on.

But whatever he was going to say was silenced by an intense, forceful kiss, as the Slayer plunged forward, plundering his mouth with her tongue and teeth, leaving him more breathless than she was, though he didn’t even need to breathe.

“Buffy,” he gasped, trying again, searching her eyes through the haze of lust that had descended over him at the taste of her warm, sweet mouth, and the feel of her soft, strong body on his. “What…”

“Shhh,” she murmured, a wicked gleam in her sparkling green eyes, a playful smirk on her face. “I think I came up with a better test,” was all the cryptic explanation she offered, before glancing down leadingly to her hand, held up for his inspection.

He frowned, a bit confused, when he noticed the soft, long silk scarf she held in her hand – one he had seen her wear on occasion. It took him a moment to understand what exactly she intended – but when he did his eyes widened with surprise.

Before he could say anything, she leaned in close, gently draping the soft fabric over his eyes, holding it closed behind his head with one hand as she kissed him again, more slowly and deliberately, her free hand sliding slowly down his body to caress low on his stomach, torturously near to the part of his anatomy that was by now begging for her attention.

The lack of sight only added to the sensation of her warm breath on his neck, her soft hand on his body, and her lush, sensuous voice next to his ear as she whispered temptingly,

“Do you trust me?” 


	2. Chapter 2

Stunned by her question as well as her actions, Spike opened his mouth to respond – but was suddenly unsure of what he should say.

He had told Buffy vehemently the day before that he *did* trust her – had made quite the bloody issue of it, too, actually – and he wanted to prove it to her, once and for all. He somehow felt that if he could force her to admit that his feelings for her went deeper than the mere lust and desire that she constantly insisted were all he was capable of feeling for her – then maybe, just *maybe*, it might be easier for her to face up to her own feelings

Unfortunately, those feelings had been buried under the weight of her depression and repressed by her inexplicable desire to live up to the unfair expectations of her friends.

But they were *there*, just the same – no matter how strongly she tried to deny it.

He could see it, in brief, fleeting moments during their clandestine encounters – just before she would desperately rush to draw the mask back into place. He knew in his heart that she *did* love him – she just had yet to face the truth of that fact herself.

She tried so hard to disprove it, constantly, telling them both over and over how much she hated him, despised him, hated herself for even lowering herself to touch him. And yet he was certain, deep down, that every cruel word or random blow she sent his way was nothing more than a desperate attempt to escape the truth of her own feelings.

He was sure – most of the time.

In the time between their secret meetings, when she was struggling to go about her everyday façade of normalcy with her sister and her friends, and he had nothing but time in which to analyze everything and then analyze it again – he had his doubts. He wondered what sort of a bloody fool he had to be to put up with the appalling way that he allowed her to treat him.

And he wondered, in those moments of insecurity and doubt, if every single insult and declaration of her disgust and hatred were actually the truth, and he was simply building lies to shield his heart from the pain of the truth.

But when she was with him – there were moments, rare but beautiful, in which he *knew* beyond all doubt – she *had* to love him – or such moments would not have even been possible.

He could hear it in her voice when she cried out his name in the heights of her passion – could feel it in the tenderness of the rare kisses she bestowed on him in her moments of weakness, when she was too tired, or too worried, or simply too needy for the affection and reassurance that her friends no longer offered her, to resist her impulse to reach out – even if it *was* to him.

She rarely kissed him – on the mouth, anyway.

It was one of her unspoken rules, a laughably useless means of keeping him from getting “too close”.

He had to admit one point – somehow, kissing *did* seem so much more intimate than so many of the things they did. She could easily claim that she was using his body simply for her own physical pleasure, and that could be accepted as truth. But what physical pleasure did the slow, sensuous kisses he craved give her, besides the sweet closeness and intimacy that she claimed she did not want – not with him?

Her refusal seemed bitterly ironic to him, considering that she had initiated their relationship with a kiss – but she clung to that useless piece of control, refusing most times to allow it. He rarely tried to kiss her anymore, having tired of the agony of her rejection of his attempts.

On the few occasions when he did dare, she would usually turn her head away, lowering her mouth to kiss his throat, or his chest – burying her hurt and fears in his body, while denying him what it was that he really sought – to see her face…to know her in all her flaws and insecurities, as well as in her glorious and terrible power.

But every now and then, the craving for the closeness and connection – the connection that she found had somehow been removed from her life when it was so abruptly returned to her – would come upon her with a vengeance, overtaking her and driving her to let down the walls – if only for a few moments.

Spike treasured every moment of those rare occasions, when she was slow and tender, and yet touched him with an intensity that sent a consuming heat through him so powerful that he sometimes feared he would dust simply from the overwhelming power of it.

And then – she *would* kiss him.

And he would clutch desperately at the opportunity to show her with his kiss how deeply he felt for her. He would hold her close, gently but deeply kissing her until she was breathless and yearning when she finally drew away…

And that was when he would see it.

In her eyes, in the bare moment or two before she managed to hide her feelings again with a cold emotionless mask, he would see the truth. Through the haze of her pleasure and desire, she would stare at him with a sort of soft shock of affection in her wide green eyes – an almost awed expression that seemed to say that she could scarcely believe or comprehend what she had just felt – could hardly dare to put a name to it.

But Spike could – and he did, every time. He took these moments and hid them away, reminding himself, calling to mind the image of that look of awe and adoration in his most insecure moments, when he was hurting over some cruel thing she had said, some calloused dismissal of him and his feelings.

He always opened his eyes, the instant that he felt her drawing out of a kiss they had shared.

He never missed that stunning, breathtaking look.

Well -- except this time.

He hesitated, trying to decide what would be the wisest response to her question. He wanted to take this chance she was offering to prove his point – he *did* trust her. Yet at the same time, he knew that she wanted to prove *her* point just as badly – to prove that he didn’t trust her.

She was the one running this “test”; she would certainly be doing everything in her power to be sure that he failed it.

And *that* thought was bloody scary.

But – not if he really *did* trust her – right? If he really did trust her, than why should the thought of surrendering control to her be frightening? If he really trusted her, then he could be sure that she would not do anything to break that trust…

The confusing circle of his thoughts was softly interrupted as the Slayer whispered near his ear, so close that he could feel her lips curve upward into a smile of triumph at his hesitation.

“Well? Do you?” she pressed him, and he could not mistake the subtle note of amusement and satisfaction in her voice. It was clear that she thought she knew what he was going to say – she thought she had won already.

Not bloody likely.

He reached a hand up quickly to grasp the back of her neck with unerring aim and pull her down, surprising her with another kiss, sudden and intense. He felt her tense against his hand as if about to pull away – an instant before she surrendered to the kiss, returning it with equal intensity.

A consolation prize, to the vampire that she believed she had already bested?

When she drew back to catch her breath, he released her, returning the smirk he knew had to be on her face about now, as he finally answered her question sweetly, “Why of course I trust you, love!” Slowly and deliberately, he removed his hands from her back and raised them, crossing his wrists over his head in a provocative way that made it very clear what his decision was, as he added in a low, suggestive voice,

“I’m all yours, pet…”

He could only imagine the smirk of satisfaction on her face giving way to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock at his actions – but as he moved his hips just slightly under her, throwing her slightly off balance and bringing her into closer contact with the proof of just how *very* willing he was to take this particular little test – the heavy scent of her arousal reached his nostrils, and his smile widened.

Whatever the expression on her face that was kept from his eyes – he knew his words and actions had had their desired effect.

To her credit, the Slayer recovered quickly, rising up on her knees over him. “Okay,” she said in a lightly warning tone, “if you’re sure about this…” As she spoke, she leaned forward, one hand behind his head gently pushing him to sit up a bit.

He complied, raising up on his elbows and leaning his head slightly forward to give her better access as she tied the soft scarf firmly but not too tightly around his eyes, pulling at it slightly to be sure it was secure.

“I can pass any test you can come up with, pet,” Spike assured her, his tone infuriatingly confident. “You forget, Slayer – I’d been playing these games for nearly a century when you were born!”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft, amused – but a bit distracted as she countered, “But you haven’t ever played them with *me*!” Frowning slightly, not sure if the fabric was thick enough, Buffy drew back a fist and plunged it forward, stopping a bare half an inch from his face.

The vampire did not flinch, did not move at all, apparently completely oblivious to the blow that had not quite fallen.

With a satisfied nod, Buffy stood up, moving from over him, unknowingly carrying another powerful waft of her intoxicating scent to his sensitive nose, and deepening his arousal.

It made him feel more than a little vulnerable, not being able to see how obvious her effect on him was, if she had noticed the ever-rising erection she had caused – unable to see her reaction to it, if she *had* noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, trying to focus his other senses to read exactly where she was, unsure of whether or not to get up yet.

She was completely silent, not giving him the slightest clue for a long moment.

Then, he felt her soft, warm hand in his – trembling a bit, was she? so the Slayer wasn’t all as confident as she was trying to seem, then – gently pulling on his hand to help him to his feet. He knew he had to trust her, at least a little, to feel as reassured as he did by the steady support of her hand in his.

He stumbled a bit as he stood, uncertain of his footing, and his free hand automatically rose to the blindfold, in an instinctive reaction, not really thinking about it, but simply instinct telling him he needed to see.

A second strong, small hand caught his wrist before he could reach it, and with one quick movement, he was spun around, both of his hands clasped in Buffy’s, as he felt her press in close behind him, her chest against his back as she held his offending hand in hers, gently but firmly keeping it down at his side.

“Just like any time you take a test,” she said, her voice soft and even just behind him, her warm breath lightly tickling his throat. “there are rules, if you want to pass. First rule: the blindfold comes off when I take it off. I mean, *of course* you can take it off any time you want to…”

He could almost see her shrug her shoulders carelessly as she paused a moment before adding quietly with a slightly smug smile, “…but then you fail. You’ve gotta trust me.”

He could feel her breasts, firmer and heaving slightly against his back, as she waited a bit breathlessly for his response. *So the little chit’s getting turned on by the dominant act, is she?* he thought with amusement – and arousal. *This little test could turn out to be a bit of fun.*

He felt his erection swell slightly at her firm touch and commanding words.

She was not the only one turned on by her little game. Again he wondered if she was noticing the effect she had on him, both unnerved and excited by the fact that attempting to conceal it, judging her reaction by her expression, her body language, were all things that were withheld from him at the moment.

The answer to his first question came quickly, as one of her hands released his and surprised him by sliding around his hip to cup gently over his begging member.

“Well,” she said with a gently mocking note to her voice. “*Somebody’s* ready to get started!”

He let out a low moan as she squeezed just slightly, before releasing him and moving around to face him. He did not know exactly where she was, as he could not see her, and felt a bit silly trying to face her, not sure if he was actually facing the headstone a couple of yards to her left, or her.

He was surprised by the consideration when she placed a gentle hand on his arm and turned him slightly, increasing his sense of security at knowing where he was in relation to her. Again, he felt reassured at the idea of trusting her.

Her tone was soft, and a bit uncertain herself, when she finally spoke again. “You’re *really sure* you want to do this.” It sounded like a statement, but it was really a question, an opportunity to back out now if he was not sure.

And give her the satisfaction of winning this little battle of wills so easily?

*Not a soddin’ chance.*

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly. “I told you I trust you, and I do, Buffy.”

He knew her so well, although she would have denied in a heartbeat that he knew her at all. He could picture her, standing in front of him, her smooth, pretty brow creased in a thoughtful frown, studying his face in an attempt to determine whether or not he did.

He did. Oh, he *really* did!

“Okay,” she finally conceded, reaching out to take his hand – and he thought with a smug smile that he quickly suppressed, that she was awfully tentative for a wanna-be dominatrix. “First question on this test…you’ve gotta trust me not to walk you into the nearest headstone or something.” She paused before adding teasingly, “And that’s a harder question than it might seem like – because you have no idea how tempting that is!”

He laughed, congratulating himself that his nervousness did not show in his voice. He *did* trust her, really – he was sure that she would not do anything to *actually* hurt him – but it was definitely a disconcerting thought, placing complete control in the Slayer’s hands.

Everything in his nature rose up screaming in protest at the idea.

Everything except his love for Buffy, and his determination to prove it – once and for all.

“I trust you, love,” he repeated, slowly and deliberately in a tone resembling one that a person might use with a retarded child. “I said it and I meant it. I. Trust. You.” He took a deep breath before stepping forward in the direction her hand was lightly tugging him.

“By all means, pet – lead on.”


	3. Chapter 3

All Buffy really wanted was to make Spike admit the truth.

She knew he couldn’t possibly trust her – not really. And if he didn’t trust her – how could he love her?

The vampire was living in a dream world, she told herself as she led him quietly toward their destination, his cool, strong hand gently clasping hers as she guided him around the various headstones and other obstacles that lay in their path.

She was genuinely being careful not to walk him into anything, or cause him to hurt himself in any way – not to deliberately break his trust. What would that prove, anyway? Only that he had trusted her, enough to allow her to hurt him – until she had proven that she did not deserve that trust.

And no matter how badly she wanted to prove her point, Buffy did not think she could live with doing it that way.

No, she planned to push Spike just enough to make him admit that he did not really trust her – on his own, not because she had done something to break his trust. He shouldn’t trust her, she reminded herself. Not because of anything she had done specifically – though she knew, if she was honest with herself, she had done enough.

But she shouldn’t have to do anything to keep him from trusting her. He was a vampire. She was the vampire Slayer.

Now, how could he possibly believe that trusting her could work out well for him in any way?

Their instincts, their very nature, dictated that there could never be anything real between them. Oh, she could not deny that she was attracted to him. She was a young, virile, completely heterosexual woman, wasn’t she? She could not help but feel a certain attraction to the well-built blonde vampire.

He was quite simply the most flawlessly gorgeous man -- vampire -- she had ever seen.

Sometimes, in the soft candlelight of his crypt, she would lose herself in the sight of him, her eyes slowly studying the smooth, hard lines of his perfectly sculpted body, taking in with a reluctant amazement every flawless inch of him, the confident easy grace with which he moved. She knew it was a cliché, but the smooth, pale flesh stretched over solid, corded muscle drew to mind images she had seen in school – statues of the ancient Greek and Roman gods.

But when her roving eyes finally met his -- that was when her breath would truly be stolen away.

She admitted only to herself that she had never seen such incredibly beautiful, crystal blue eyes as Spike’s. And without fail, by this point, he would have noticed the way she was looking at him, and those deep, expressive eyes would hold a worshipful sort of awe, a delighted hope – and Buffy would suddenly catch herself, realizing with alarm the dangerous direction her thoughts and emotions were taking.

And she would quickly close herself off to him.

It frightened her, the longing she felt in those moments, to return the worship she saw in his eyes – to be slow, and tender, and treat him as the incredible, amazing creature of beauty that he was.

If he got anything at all from her on those nights, it was a punishment rather than a pleasure. She was like a wild thing in those moments, passionate and intense. She would take him hard and fast and rough – and he might have actually enjoyed it…if not for the fierce anger in her eyes, the bitter triumph in her smile as her by now expert touch sought to make him sorry for making her feel these things that terrified her.

And her words – her words were what really hurt him.

She would whisper cruel things in a loving tone – thanking him bitterly, sarcastically telling him how grateful she was for the feelings he inspired in her – because even the utter disgust she felt at herself for lowering herself to touch him, was better than feeling nothing.

She gave his body pleasure, while punishing his heart, by making it painfully clear just how little he really meant to her – how absolutely she was using him. He always tried to hide his hurt – always failed – and it never brought her the satisfaction she expected.

Because really – this was not Spike’s fault.

She sought him out most times; she had initiated this – situation – to begin with. And she knew, if she admitted the truth to herself – he only ever tried to please her, to win her affections. He offered her everything in him, all he had to give, for a mere crumb – and she took what he offered and then shoved him away, leaving him empty and broken…

…but never as empty as she felt inside.

And she resented him for it.

She resented the fact that no one else seemed to be able to fill the emptiness, even for a little while, except for him. She resented the fact that as an “evil, soulless demon”, he seemed to be more full of emotion and vitality and life than she had felt in months. She resented the fact that she didn’t seem to be able to feel anything, except when she was with him.

She resented the fact that he was overjoyed and grateful and adoring at the very thing she had come to loathe over the past few months – her own life.

And for the love and comfort and reassurance that he offered her – she punished him by repeatedly crushing his heart, his feelings, in a merciless fist of iron.

Oh yeah, Buffy. He really trusts you. Right.

He would have to an absolute fool.

Really, if she thought about it – really, really thought about it, with the help of a healthy dose of imagination – she was actually doing him a favor…helping him to see the painful truth before he got hurt.

Worse than he already had.

“You’re quiet, love. You all right?”

The gentle concern in his voice touched a sensitive chord in her heart. Why was it that Spike always knew when she was upset, or confused, or hurting? She wore the “happy Buffy” mask nearly all of the time now, and her friends seemed satisfied to accept it as reality.

But Spike, unable to see her face or even hear her voice, still read her better than anyone else – when it came to anything but their troubled pseudo-relationship and his ridiculously romantic notions of her “true feelings” – not to mention his own.

Right, she reminded herself, drawing in a slow, deep breath, letting it out with a single Latin word that Spike did not hear. Let’s get this show on the road. Time to shatter those illusions! She steeled herself, insisting firmly, You’ll both be better off without them.

Spike was surprised and a bit alarmed when he felt the Slayer’s small, soft hand slide out of his, without so much as a word of response to his question.

“Buffy?”

His voice was uncertain, and he frowned in confusion and stopped walking when he still heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was not simply that Buffy had stopped talking; it appeared that she had also stopped moving, or even breathing for that matter. If he had trusted to his hearing alone, he would have thought that she had vanished into thin air.

“Right,” he said slowly, drawing out the word with dry humor in his voice. “Um – Buffy, love – you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to – just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.” He paused, before adding, “And it’d be bloody nice if you’d return the favor at a time like this.”

She smiled, suppressing a giggle and managing to stay quiet despite her amusement, as she watched him from a spot behind a headstone about thirty feet away. She thought with a sense of affection that she quickly tried to ignore, how his sarcasm had a way of making her laugh, even when she didn’t want to.

“Buffy?”

The sound of her name drew her attention again, spoken in a voice which had lost all trace of Spike’s dry humor, suddenly sounding small and a little nervous. A simple spell – one of several she had procured from Willow that afternoon, to help her in the various events she had planned for the evening – masked her scent, not allowing him to sense her presence in any way.

The smile faded from her lips, as the sound of his uncertain voice tugged at her heart, making her feel guilty against her will. She was suddenly sobered by the thought of what she was doing. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For Spike to realize that he couldn’t – shouldn’t -- didn’t trust her?

She was sure that it would only be a moment or two before Spike would assume that she had left him and take off the blindfold. He was much too intelligent to remain so vulnerable in a graveyard at night in Sunnydale, if he believed that Buffy was no longer there to watch his back – and front, at the moment, for that matter.

Yes, he would be taking off that blindfold any moment.

And when he did, he would be forced to admit that he did not trust her enough to believe that she would not leave him so vulnerable like this, helpless to any of the many demons in Sunnydale who were now out for his blood, thanks to his dealings with her -- and would relish such an opportunity to attack him by surprise.

Yep, she thought, a bit uneasily. Any second now.

The line of thought she had been following had been intended to reassure her of the fact that Spike would be giving in, failing her test, right away. But to her surprise and considerable annoyance, she found herself actually becoming concerned, rising up slightly from behind the headstone and looking around, her sharp eyes scanning the area around them for any sign of a threat.

Vampire or not – it would be awfully low to actually allow him to be hurt in the midst of this test.

By something besides her, anyway.

Satisfied that the area was safe as ever – for the moment, anyway, she returned her attention impatiently to Spike, still careful not to make a sound to give away her presence.

He was still standing where she had left him, very still, clearly trying to gain any clue as to where she was. Then, much to her amazement, a slow smile began to spread across his face, as he started to slowly walk forward, each step cautious and deliberate, his hands out in front of him to feel for any obstacles.

“Nice try, love,” he said softly, his voice calm and even. “But I know you’re here. I know you wouldn’t just leave me like that, Buffy – even if it would make things a bloody hell of a lot easier for you if some nasty found me like this and made an end of me for you.”

The way he spoke those words – matter-of-factly with a sad, ironic smile – sent a pang of guilt through her heart to hear it, to realize that he really believed she felt that way. She frowned, irritated at her own emotions, at the fact that she felt guilty for it.

Didn’t she feel that way?

She had said as much to herself, just a couple of short months ago. She remembered her own thoughts, again with an inexplicable sense of guilt.

Things would be so much less complicated if I would just stop saving his life…

“But I know you better than that, love,” Spike went on, drawing her attention back to him. “I know you wouldn’t be able to do that to me – even if you think that you could…”

Buffy frowned, irritated and indignant that he thought he knew her so much better than she knew herself. If she thought that she could do it, then she could do it! She didn’t need Spike and his know-it-all attitude to tell her that she…

Suddenly, Buffy’s eyes widened with dismay as she saw where Spike’s cautious, tentative footsteps were leading him, as he blinding tried to seek her out – to a danger that his outstretched hands would not warn him of. A wide, open grave lay just a few short feet ahead of him.

For a moment, a smirk crossed her face. That would teach him. Let him try to say that she cared enough not to place him in danger after he fell flat on his face six feet deep, with her standing just a few short yards away. She knew that it was not an actual threat to his safety; he would not be hurt by such a short drop, and he would easily be able to get out again.

But his pride – and the trust he was trying to hold in her – would be damaged by the fall.

“You might not see it right now, love. All you can see in yourself right now is the darkness – but I know what you’re capable of, and I know the kind of person you are,” Spike went on, slowly nearing the gaping hole in front of him. “And I know that you’re not the kind of person who would…”

His words were cut off as he was suddenly yanked backward several feet, a strong arm wrapped gently but firmly around his waist – directly against a soft, warm body that he knew very, very well. He heard a soft whisper of breath behind him – and suddenly the scent of her was overpowering, so very near – overwhelming, and strangely reassuring.

“You don’t have any idea what I’m capable of,” she whispered suggestively in his ear, and he could hear the smile in her voice as her arm rose slowly, her hand coming to rest on his chest for a moment before releasing him completely, though her hand remained on his arm.

She didn’t want him moving forward suddenly and falling headlong into the grave she had just pulled him back from.

And why didn’t she want that again?

He understood suddenly what she had done, how she had disguised her presence from him, and a slow, knowing smile came over his face as he pressed back against her just slightly, taking a deep breath, inhaling the sweet scent that surrounded him as one hand slipped back between them to brush across the front of her jeans.

The sharp little intake of breath he heard was all the response he needed, and his smile widened slightly as he murmured softly, “Think I’ve got a bit of an idea after all, pet…” He pulled away from her slowly, turning around to face her, his hands blindly finding her waist and pulling her in close to him.

“Magic, though,” he laughed, a low, musical sound that sent a shudder down her spine despite her best efforts not to let him affect her. “Didn’t realize that was a talent of yours.”

“I’ve got a lot of talents, Spike,” she shot back with a smile, deciding that it would not hurt to give in to her desires a little bit. After all, she was still in complete control. And it wasn’t like any of it was going to matter anymore, after tonight.

After tonight – he would never speak to her again, let alone touch her.

She moved in closer to him, pulling him down into a deep, tender kiss, her hand playing softly through his hair in a rare display of affection.

Spike thought he was in heaven. A small part of him felt a measure of trepidation at her uncharacteristic behavior. Why was she suddenly so gentle, so affectionate with him? Shouldn’t she be trying her best to scare him? To convince him that she was a danger to him?

Unless that wasn’t really what she wanted at all.

Unless…

“So you’re convinced then, love?” he wondered softly when she finally drew out of the kiss to breathe. “You believe me now? This little test of yours is over?”

“Oh, Spike,” the words came out on a breath, very soft and full of some unnamed emotion, as her hand rose to gently caress his cheek. He automatically leaned into the touch, seeking every shred of affection she offered; and she felt the odd little ache building in her chest deepen a bit.

“No, Spike – the test is only beginning.”


	4. Chapter 4

Spike was surprised by Buffy’s oddly gentle manner as they made their way slowly and carefully toward – wherever it was that he was allowing himself to be blindly led by the Slayer. He knew that this was not just a kinky little game to her – she had a specific agenda. She had a point to prove.

*You’re out of your bleedin’ mind,* he told himself for the hundredth time since accepting her little challenge.

Buffy had proven over the past couple months that she knew how to push the envelope sexually as well as anyone he had ever been with. She knew how to make it hurt in ways that sent him into heights of ecstasy with every deliriously pleasurable, exquisitely painful touch.

And now – she was going to be doing her best to push farther than she ever had before.

*Yep – stark raving mad, you are, mate…*

But – if she was trying to make him fail her little test of trust, shouldn’t she be trying harder to scare him? To make him think that she intended to hurt him? How could it possibly suit her purposes to behave the way she was right now – tender and gentle, cautiously leading him, careful not to let him lose his footing, walking beside him patiently with a warm, steadying arm around his waist?

Buffy was never this gentle with him, even when she was *not* trying to prove a point.

It was just bloody scary.

They had long since left the soft grass of the graveyard, and he could now feel hard concrete beneath his feet; if his sense of direction was any good – and he knew that it was excellent – they were headed down a residential street in the general direction of downtown Sunnydale.

It was very late by now, and the streets were deserted, he gathered, from the fact that the only sounds that surrounded them were the usual late night sounds of chirping insects, broken every few minutes by the sound of a single passing car.

Spike was actually finding it difficult to be nervous, based on Buffy’s disarming manner, and he smiled at the thought that had just occurred to him.

“What exactly is your plan, love, if someone should happen to look too closely and notice you leading about a man blindfolded like this, mistake you for some kind of deranged psychopathic serial killer and call the police?”

He could hear the smile in her voice, as she shot back matter-of-factly, “Simple. I’ll just explain that we’re playing an elaborate role-playing sex game in which you are a helpless slave to my every desire, and ask them if we can borrow their handcuffs.”

His voice became softer, though it still held a teasing note, as he pointed out, “You don’t really need the handcuffs for *that* game, love.” The words he did not say were clear, none the less.

He was already a helpless slave to her every desire.

Uncomfortable with his unabashed honesty – hating that way he had of taking something that she had intended to be taken only in a casually sexy way, and turning it into something intimate and tender and much deeper than she was willing to go – Buffy grew tense, her arm stiffening slightly around him.

He did this every time.

*Well, not this time!*

“You’re right,” she said aloud, her voice softening seductively as her hand at his waist slid slowly downward, playing teasingly around the waistband of his jeans, and smiling when she felt *him* tense under the provocative touch.

“I wouldn’t need to borrow any handcuffs. Where I’m taking you…” She leaned in close to his ear, her hand at his waist edging slowly downward and inward to trace the line of his hip, torturously near to his rapidly swelling erection, as she continued in a hushed, suggestive whisper.

“…I’ve already got everything I need to make you my *very*…willing…slave…”

She smiled at the soft gasp of surprise and arousal that left the vampire’s lips as she saw his desire for her visibly increase, and did not bother to suppress her satisfied smirk.

It wasn’t as if he could see it, anyway.

He sounded a bit breathless when he finally recovered enough to reply, but there was a low note of intensity and raw desire in his voice that sent a shiver of anticipation through her at the sound, in spite of her determination to remain in control.

“Already there, pet,” he reminded her in a soft, low voice that was almost a growl with his need for her. “remember?”

Buffy felt an unexpected rush of arousal at his words, and suddenly could not wait to get him to the place that she had specially prepared for this night. She had not forgotten about her plan – to make the vampire face up to his true feelings, and her lack of them, and make him be the one to walk away from this damaging little affair of theirs – but she could not help but be a bit distracted, with him speaking those words in that tone, and…and…

Well, if she was never going to be with him again after tonight – she might as well allow herself to enjoy the evening – right?

“And apparently, somebody likes the idea,” Spike added, his tone suddenly shifting to one of self-satisfaction and playful mockery that was strengthened by that all too familiar little gesture of his tongue between his teeth that never failed to both infuriate and arouse her.

This was no exception.

Impulsively, she turned and captured that teasing mouth in a fierce, passionate kiss. For a brief instant, he drew back in surprise – who was this girl and what had she done with the Slayer? – but that instant was all it took for him to recover and respond to her intense kiss for all he was worth.

Buffy felt her knees weaken and her legs turn to jelly beneath her as Spike’s expert tongue worked its magic in her mouth.

*How does he *do* that?* she wondered with a mixture of awe and frustration. A sudden determination came over her as she struggled to steady herself – determination that he would not win this game.

*He’s not going to,* she answered her own question firmly. *I’m not going to let him…*

Her forefingers hooked through the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him forward firmly to press his burgeoning erection against her throbbing center through the thin, flirty skirt that she had worn for this occasion, rotating her hips slightly to increase the contact, moaning slightly at the beginnings of the release she needed.

Spike gasped against her lips, and she smiled with satisfaction to feel the shudder that went through him at the intensified sensation – no doubt even more powerful with his major sense of sight taken away. She had read somewhere that being robbed of one sense made all the others that much more intense – so she took the rare opportunity to press her advantage, pushing forward to plunder his mouth in a fiery quest for dominance.

The moment that Spike realized what she was doing, his own resolve came into play, as he pushed forward himself, struggling to regain the upper hand.

But he was at a decided disadvantage, not being able to see where he was going, and Buffy allowed him to push her – just far enough for him to stumble slightly over a rock in his path. When he went off balance, she took the chance to spin them both around, without even thinking about it, placing her hand behind his head to cushion the blow, and pushing him back with surprising gentleness against the trunk of the tree behind him…

…a tree he would have recognized, had he been thinking about it – after all the many hours he had spent beside or behind it, just staring up through her bedroom window and thinking about her, and how badly he wished that things were different, that he could actually be with her.

Now his wish seemed to have come true in some ways.

And in other ways, he wished it never had.

Buffy was decidedly in control at the moment, the fingers of one hand still hooked in his belt loop, holding him close to her, as she slowly, thoroughly kissed him, and he gave in to the intense pleasure of her attentions, gentle and affectionate in a way that he rarely experienced from her. Suddenly, winning no longer seemed so important to him as simply enjoying a gift that he seldom received.

Could anyone blame him if Buffy being soft and tender and caring was something he did not really feel like fighting?

His hands rested at her hips, pulling her urgently closer as she continued to kiss him, her hand behind his head softly but intently massaging the back of his head, as she released her hold on his jeans and slid her hand slowly down between them.

“Oh, God,” he groaned as her fingertips brushed lightly down, and then up again, along the length of his desperately straining erection. “Buffy…”

She smiled against his lips, relishing the effect she had on him, the fact that he wanted her so badly…

…trying not to think about the strange warmth that stole through her at the thought, that had nothing to do with the heat of her arousal, but more with emotions that had been painfully dormant since her resurrection -- or the fact that she wanted him every bit as badly as he clearly wanted her.

“Buffy, love – so hot…need to have you, sweet Buffy…” he murmured soft words of mingled tender affection and torrid desire, that only fanned the flame of need the was slowly building inside her.

His hand mimicked the action of hers only moments before, slipping down between them, edging toward her throbbing, sodden core, and she knew that he meant to return the favor she had just been bestowing on him.

At least – right now, he still thought it was a favor, she corrected in her mind.

And then quickly tried to put *that* thought and all of its implications out of her mind as well.

Her mind flashed back to a night about a month ago, when Spike had met her in just this very spot, outside her house, and had convinced her to forget about her responsibilities and the drudgery of her everyday life for just a few minutes more, and lose herself to the sensations that only he could make her feel.

She knew she was headed for another such moment – which was definitely *not* on her agenda for tonight – if she did not do something, and fast.

She desperately searched for some part of her that was willing to make him stop what he was just beginning to….

*Oh, *God*!*

“Spike,” she whispered, her hand sliding down from behind his head and reaching to join his between them. “Spike…do you remember…”

“Yes,” he interrupted, his voice low and husky with the fresh desire evoked by the memory he had been reliving as well. “God, love, yes!”

Her hand covered his, which had just slipped under her loose, flowy skirt, just moving with it for a moment and relishing the sweet sensation of pleasure that began moving through her at the teasingly gentle caress of his hand.

She knew she had only moments before he would not be so gentle – and all her resolve would be lost.

“You remember,” she continued, her voice thick and throaty as she struggled for words and breath through the waves of pleasure he was expertly building in her. “…how you wanted me…to say your name…out here, so everyone would hear?”

An overwhelming fire of lust consumed him at the words.

Yes. He remembered.

He had wanted so badly to make her admit what they had, that night. He would never have done anything to traumatize the Nibblet, but that night he had almost *wished* that Dawn would catch them – that Buffy would have all her excuses and lies stolen away, and be left with nothing to hide behind.

She had whispered his name when he had asked her to, and he had drawn out her pleasure, withholding just enough until he was sure that she would give in…but the fear in her voice, the desperate determination not to give in to his demand, had finally broken his resolve, and he had yielded to her the pleasure she had desired, settling for his whispered name in broken, desperate tones.

But the sweet affection, the raw desire and need in her voice that she scarcely ever allowed herself to express, had been more than he usually got – and for that moment, it had been enough.

He was distracted from his thoughts as Buffy’s hand gently but firmly closed over his and pulled his hand away from her. He resisted slightly, opening his mouth to protest, wondering why she was making him stop when she was so obviously enjoying it so much.

But she silenced him with a well-timed kiss that also served to weaken his resistance, as her hands clasped his and pushed them back against the tree beside his head, as her knee shifted up slightly, brushing against the underside of his swollen, desperately sensitive member, making him gasp again at the unexpected sensation.

“Bet I could make you say my name,” she moved her lips from his to whisper enticingly in his ear. “Bet I could make you scream it so that every human, demon, and whatever else is here in this whole town would know the truth…”

She placed several soft, playful kisses along the column of his throat, smiling against his skin, wanting him to know that she was teasing when her next words left her lips. “…that William the Bloody…” She paused for a sweet little kiss on his jaw, working her way back up to his lips. “…Slayer of Slayers…” Her lips met his tenderly for a moment, before she drew back and whispered,

“…is *this* Slayer’s bitch.”

The playful, teasingly affectionate tone of her voice softened the blow of the words. It might be the truth, but he knew by her tone that she did not mean it to hurt him, and the bold, possessive words coming from the usually prim, golden Slayer that everyone but him always saw, were an unexpectedly arousing surprise.

“You know it, Baby,” he muttered, leaning forward slightly to hungrily capture her lips again.

She allowed herself to enjoy the strangely tender moment that was so uniquely – well -- *theirs* -- before she drew back to speak again, her knee resuming its subtle but torturously effective movement.

“So…the way I see it,” a little twist and upward push drew a moan of pleasure from the vampire’s throat as she continued calmly, feigning unconcern. “…you’ve only got one choice here. You can scream my name out here – where everyone can hear it…”

The way she spoke the words was seductive and exciting and intensified the feeling of her touch – which was so much more than usual, due to his not being able to see her – and yet not enough. Never enough.

“…or,” she went on, ceasing all movement suddenly to allow him to concentrate on her next words. “in the nice, magically sound-proofed location that I’ve got all set up for us…that’s only about fifty feet away.”

Frustrated, hardly registering her words at first, he thrust his hips slightly forward toward her, wanting her to resume her movements – but then froze, frowning.

“What?” he asked, surprised. “What place?”

“It’s a secret,” she whispered, placing a finger to his lips playfully, moving in to kiss him just at the corner of his mouth, before pulling back slightly to whisper innocently in his ear, “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

A slow smile crept across Spike’s face, and he shook his head in amusement and disbelief. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you, Slayer? You’ve really thought this out.”

“You have *no* idea.”

The dark, seductive tone of her voice sent a thrill of mingled apprehension and desire through him; suddenly, he was both desperate and a bit frightened to find out just what all exactly Buffy *had* thought of.

“Here’s the thing,” she explained quietly and slowly, wanting him to understand completely. “I’ve borrowed a few spells for the night. The place is completely soundproofed. No one outside will be able to hear anything happening inside until I break the spell. It’s also been magically secured. Meaning that I have to invite you in, and once you come in – you can’t leave until I break the spell.”

She was silent for a moment, allowing the impact of those words to sink in, waiting for him to grasp this next piece of control she was challenging him to give up.

“It’s up to you,” she said softly, one hand releasing his wrist to gently stroke through his hair again as she went on. “You can go with me into this perfectly sound-proof, perfectly secured place, where no one else will be all night, except me…and you…”

Her voice had lowered to a suggestive whisper – and suddenly, he could imagine nothing he would like better.

“…that is…if you feel all right about that…being alone with me, and not able to leave…or see what I’m doing…knowing that no one would hear you if you scream…”

The tone that he knew she meant to be scary only came across as sexy, mostly because of the activities they had just been indulging in – which he was anxious to indulge in again – and the fact that it was adorably obvious that she was *trying* to sound scary.

She was so bloody hot when she was trying to be all bad and menacing -- it *was* scary.

His focus was drawn back to the matter at hand by her soft voice, slightly breathless with anticipation as to his answer, as she pressed him.

“Well? What’s your answer? In…or out?”


	5. Chapter 5

“What do *you* think I’m gonna say, love?” the blonde, blind vampire drawled seductively, leaving no doubt as to what his answer would be.

Buffy was very glad at that moment that Spike’s eyes were covered; the brilliant smile that he gave her, the one that always sent a warm, pleasant little shiver down her spine, even when she tried to ignore it -- the low note of desire in his voice, awakening something in her that she reminded herself, with a bit less conviction, that she would never allow to be fulfilled again after this night -- were enough to make her have second thoughts about this little plan of hers and consider making this just another night for them – though at this point it could not help but turn out to be a very interesting one, either way.

Could she *really* give this up? *Forever*?

Yes, she was very grateful for the blindfold.

The lust she could only imagine in those crystal blue eyes would have certainly been the undoing of her resolve.

*No,* she told herself firmly. *You’ve taken it this far. Follow through, Buffy! You have to end this, once and for all!*

Besides – she knew that if she did what she was about to do, *without* ending this inevitably disastrous affair, she would be crossing a line that she knew she was not willing to cross. She was about to make this more personal than she had ever before allowed it to become.

She was about to bring Spike into her home – into her very room.

Spike had been in her house many times before, and had a standing invitation that had been open since the night they had faced Glory, when she had subconsciously known, she thought, what was going to happen – and had wordlessly granted her forgiveness for past sins.

He had earned it, with his own blood.

He knew the house well, having stayed there many nights with Dawn while she had been gone. And she knew – if the word of a lying, cheating, vampire-whore-visiting creep like Riley could be trusted at all -- that he had even been in her bedroom once or twice when she had not been home.

But it had been a very long time since Buffy had allowed Spike to be in her house. Since she had initiated this pseudo-relationship that they were engaged in, her treatment of Spike in front of her friends had become worse than it had ever been, she admitted. The friendship that they had barely begun had been cast aside in the interest of her image in the eyes of her friends.

She realized that she was over-compensating, treating him with contempt and hostility, because she was afraid that her friends might guess the truth – and she knew that it was not fair to him.

He had looked after and comforted her little sister in her absence – and now she herself could hardly look at the girl, let alone give her the love she needed.

He had endured unspeakable torture for her and Dawn – and now she tortured his heart every night to punish him for it.

“You’re beneath me,” she had told him – yet she knew that he deserved better than the meager affection that she had left to give.

*I’m doing this for his own good,* she reminded herself defensively as she led him toward her front door. *He’ll be happier without me constantly using him, jerking his heart back and forth all the time – he can find someone else – some vampire girl who will love him like he is – because *I* sure can’t!*

*I’m not sure I can love at all anymore…*

*I am so unbelievably screwed up.”

“Just checkin’,” Buffy said in a light, teasing voice. “Cause if you’re gonna back out – now’s the time.”

“Not backin’ out, love – lead the way.”

Buffy’s troublesome thoughts continued to circle through her very confused mind, but her demeanor remained unchanged as she led Spike up the porch steps, guiding him carefully so that he would not fall, her arm draped low around his hips in a comfortable yet provocative way.

The vampire was almost unbearably aroused by this point, she knew – and she was glad, because although he was incredibly perceptive, the almost painful-looking erection he was currently sporting should be enough of a distraction to keep him from noticing if anything was amiss.

“All right, love – what’s wrong?”

Damn.

“Nothing’s wrong, Spike,” she purred, turning to face him as they reached the doorway, sidling in closer to him and edging her hand lower to press him against her harder. “Nothing we can’t fix *real* fast!”

She could tell she was accomplishing her goal – quite literally driving him to distraction – by the soft gasp that left his lips as she slowly swiveled her hips once, keeping her body pressed close against him.

He could hardly form a coherent thought, with the way she was touching him, driving him slowly to a greater intensity of need – but he knew that something wasn’t right. There was something – hovering on the edges of his consciousness – some detail he was missing…

*There’s a lot you’re missing, mate, you’re bloody blindfolded!* he reminded himself, sarcastically mocking his own thoughts – as well as his foolishness to allow himself to be placed in this situation.

What was wrong? What was she thinking about, that had her upset? Because he knew that she was.

“Buffy,” his voice came out in a low moan, though he was struggling to regain some measure of control. “Love – wait…something’s…”

“Come on, Baby,” she pouted slightly. “Just let it go, everything’s find. Let’s just go inside.”

*Baby.*

That was it. She never called him that – or any other sweet little endearment, for that matter. She always called him by his name, if she called him anything at all – and she was never this soft and affectionate in the way that she touched him. She usually seemed to resent the fact that she was coming to him at all, and often seemed to be trying to punish him for it with her caustic words and rough affections.

So why the sudden, affectionate words – the gentle, considerate behavior that she *never* showed him?

Someone was trying too hard.

But to do *what*, exactly?

“Unless you’ve changed your mind,” Buffy went on, her voice sly and slightly mocking.

It was annoyingly clear that she still expected him to back out at any moment.

“Not at all, pet,” he assured her with a calm confidence that he knew would drive her insane, his mind racing as he tried to figure out her game. “Don’t you have to…invite me in…like you said?” There was a slightly taunting sound to his even, pointed words, as he added, “Unless of course I already have an invitation.”

Buffy might have thought she was being all secretive and mysterious, not telling him where they were going – but he had known the moment they had reached the porch exactly where they were – had suspected it before that – and that knowledge actually strengthened his confidence regarding whatever was about to happen between them.

Buffy might have thought that holding this little test on her home ground, so to speak, would give her an edge, throw him off his game – but she had no idea how much like home this house had come to feel for Spike during the long months of her absence.

She was quiet for a long moment, and he could picture the dry little expression of irritation she was surely wearing, as she glared at him, surprised and annoyed that he had figured it out.

“You do,” she admitted, confirming what he already knew. “But when I do this spell – you’ll need an invite to come in, and you’ll need an invite, so to speak, to leave, too. It’s a barrier spell for any creature of supernatural origin. Who doesn’t…already…happen to live here,” she added as an afterthought, and he saw in his mind that adorable little frown as she realized that technically, she fell into the “supernatural” category herself.

“Well, go right ahead, love. I’m not afraid.”

He clearly heard the stifled sigh that passed the Slayer’s lips as she turned away from him slightly to face the door, and spoke a few Latin words in an offhand, casual sort of way.

He felt her arm slowly removed from around him, as she opened the door and stepped through. Automatically he moved to follow her – and sure enough, was stopped by the barrier she had described.

She laughed softly at the petulant little frown that came over Spike’s face.

“ ‘S not funny, love,” he said, sounding slightly offended. “Let me in.” He had not expected the sudden sense of hurt and insecurity that came over him at finding himself once again “locked out” of Buffy’s house – even if it *was* only for a few moments.

Buffy felt a slight pang of guilt and sympathy, remembering the look on his face that night, almost two years ago, when she had left him behind on her porch after his catastrophic attempt to profess his love for her – that look of hurt and betrayal and disbelief at being irrevocably, permanently shut out of her home.

Except – it had not turned out to be so permanent, after all. She *had* revoked the removal of his invitation.

But the look on his face now, even without the pain she knew would be in his eyes, said that at the moment, he felt as if she never had.

“Okay,” she said in a teasingly warning tone, concealing the fact that she had seen the painful feelings the barrier had refreshed in him. “but this is your last chance to back out of this.” She took a deep breath before speaking slowly and deliberately. “Come in, Spike – if you dare.” The last was spoken with over-dramatic amusement.

Just as deliberately, he immediately stepped over the now barrier-free threshold and into the foyer beside her – breathing out a sigh of relief, his expression lightening the moment he realized that she was not going to keep him out.

He could feel her heat beside him, could hear the pounding of her heart that belied her calm, cool demeanor. She was either nervous, or upset – or wanting him every bit as desperately as he wanted her.

He reached out for her blindly, yet accurately reaching toward her – and she ducked quickly out of reach, giggling mischievously. When he moved toward the source of the sound, she was gone again, before he could touch her.

“Hey, now,” he chided her, taking another step or two in the general direction she had been, his lower lip jutting out in a pout that he happened to know she found irresistible. “No fair, love…don’t you know it’s not nice to make fun of disabled vam..”

His words were cut off as he was suddenly grabbed from behind, spun around and pushed forward against the wall. He braced himself for the impact, trying to regain his bearings – but again, was surprised when the Slayer was careful not to hurt him, one arm around his shoulders holding him back slightly so that he did not hit too hard against the wall.

He opened his mouth to call her on it, to ask her again about her unsettlingly strange behavior – but rational thought was driven from his mind as Buffy’s small, warm hand closed over his covered erection, squeezing slightly and making him groan at the pleasure bordering on pain of her strong touch.

“Now you’ve done it,” she whispered in his ear, in a tone of playfully dangerous seduction, as her hand stroked slowly but firmly down the length of his aching, swollen member through the restricting barrier of his jeans. “You’ve walked right into the Slayer’s trap, you big, bad vampire! And now you’re *all mine*!”

Spike let out a gasp as she increased the pressure of her hand slightly, before releasing her hold long enough to turn him around to face her – though it didn’t do him any good, as he still could not see her, and only gave her better access to his body, already begging for her touch.

“Good,” he managed to get the word out in a breathless whisper, his full lips turning up in a wicked smile of satisfaction as he added teasingly, “then my evil scheme worked!”

There was a moment’s startled silence – before the surprising sound of the Slayer’s laughter. Buffy’s laugh was almost musical when it was so genuine, like this, he thought – the moment before thought was once again stolen away, this time by a breathtakingly tender, affectionate kiss.

“Buffy,” he whispered when she finally broke the kiss. “What…?”

Her soft fingertips stilled his lips, as she leaned in to whisper softly, “Shhh,” before brushing her lips across his one more time, as her hands found his and clasped them tightly, pulling them up to rest against the wall on either side of his head as she drew back from the light kiss.

She leaned in close again to whisper in his ear, her words slow and hushed and enticing.

“My sister is staying with Tara tonight. I know you can’t see it – but the curtains are drawn – the lights are turned down – there might be candles…” She smiled, so near to him that he could feel the smile against his skin. “…the barrier spell’s in place – so neither one of us is going anywhere for a while…Looks like I’ve got this night…this house…and *you*…all to myself.”

“Killer combination,” he remarked in a husky whisper, his voice slightly strained with his by now desperate, but as yet unfulfilled desire, that she was driving higher with every well-timed, well-chosen word.

“Hmm,” she mused thoughtfully, drawing back just a little, releasing one of his hands, lowering hers to trace a lazy, torturously slow circle over the spot where the tip of his erection was under his jeans – smiling when her efforts were rewarded with a low groan that bordered on a throaty whimper, and served to intensify her own arousal.

“I guess that depends on what I do with it.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So, Slayer – what *are* you going to do with me?” Spike’s voice was low and husky with desire, sending a shiver down her spine at the suggestive note it held. “Since I’m all yours for the night?”

 

“ ‘For the night’?” she echoed, and he could hear the smirk in her voice as her fingertips traced random patterns over the straining denim that covered his desperate member, consuming him with an ever-rising, unbearable need.

 

“God, Buffy,” he groaned, thrusting slowly forward into her hand without even realizing he was doing it. “*Forever*!”

 

She leaned in close, her hand closing around him tightly through the fabric of his jeans, suddenly pulling him closer to her in a bold, possessive gesture that brought him into contact with the heat he could feel radiating from her equally needy body – and nearly sent him over the edge right then, as she leaned in to whisper with a satisfied smirk, “That’s what I thought!”

 

Spike felt a little thrill go through him that had nothing to do with the physical sensations running rampant through his body, at her possessive words of desire. Did she really *want* him to be hers, for more than just a night at a time – whenever she took the notion to have him? He hardly dared to hope that she might actually mean the words, as more than a ploy for whatever sexual game she was slowly building up to.

 

But he *did* dare – just barely, although he knew it was foolish to do so.

 

“So – all mine, huh?” she asked in a teasingly skeptical voice, without releasing her hold on his aching shaft.

 

“Yes!” he gasped, desperate for some sort of movement, friction, needing the continued sensation of the caresses she had been giving him. He tried to thrust up toward her again – but she was unyielding, holding him back against the wall with the firm grip of her hand on his erection.

 

“You’ll do whatever I want?” Her tone was speculative, calculating now.

 

It drove him wild with need, with wondering what she might choose to do with such a concession.

 

“Anything, love,” he vowed, a pleading note to his low, hoarse voice.

 

“Hmm,” she mused. “Blind obedience. That *does* take a lot of trust.” Her soft, light tone took on a slight edge of warning that sent a shiver down his spine, as she whispered the question, “You trust me that much? Enough to do *anything* I tell you to do?”

 

He hesitated for just a moment, aware that if he accepted this part of her challenge, he would have no choice but to follow through, or fail her test.

 

Of course, if he did *not* accept it – he would fail the test anyway.

 

He nodded slowly. “Anything. Whatever you tell me, love. I’m yours to command.” He paused, his mouth turning up in a smirk as he added dryly, with a smirk, “Just don’t ask me to laugh at your bloody ‘blind obedience’ joke – because honestly, Slayer, your quips are slipping a bit. That was just bloody awful!”

 

The words had barely left his lips when her hand was suddenly back in motion, her fingers tracing torturously around the covered head of his erection – reducing his mocking smirk to an expression of shocked pleasure, as he leaned his head back against the wall and drew in a sharp, shaky breath at the overwhelming sensation.

 

The fingertips of her other hand found his trembling, gasping lips, tracing lightly over them in an affectionate way as she pointed out in a soft, seductive tone that held a teasing note as well, “You know – for someone who’s mine to command – you’re awfully mouthy, aren’t you? You ought to be careful what you say to me. You never know what I might decide to make you do.”

 

*I’ll show her ‘mouthy’,* he thought with a secret smile, surprising her with a quick motion of his head, capturing her fingertips gently between his teeth, nipping lightly at her before gently sucking the sensitive digits for a moment.

 

She did not pull away for a moment, and he heard a soft gasp of her own at the unexpected sensation that his suggestive action, and the physical sensation, created in her. As she slowly withdrew her fingers from his mouth to lightly caress his cheek, he turned his face to kiss her palm tenderly.

 

The simple gesture was almost too much for Buffy to bear. She felt a sudden rush of emotion flood her heart, indefinable emotions that swept over her and left her with a deep, aching sense of sadness for what she was about to do.

 

Why did she have to end this again? she wondered desperately. Right – because Spike was an evil vampire – an evil vampire who showed her more love and devotion than anyone in her life ever had – who somehow seemed to know her better than anyone else ever had, despite her best efforts to shut him out – who somehow managed to touch not only her body but her heart and mind in ways she had never known were possible.

 

But – it was wrong. She was the Slayer; she wasn’t supposed to even allow his existence, let alone give herself to him, even in the limited way in which she did.

 

God, why did everything have to be so hard?

 

*No, Buffy,* she berated herself suddenly. *Stop thinking this way – you’ve got to get things back on track, *now*!*

 

Spike sensed the sudden difference in her demeanor when she quickly, unexpectedly, pulled her hand back from his face, at the same time removing her hand from his body, both hands suddenly gripping his wrists and pinning him to the wall again.

 

He let out an involuntary little moan of protest at the sudden loss of contact, his hips thrusting forward in a vain attempt to regain her touch. Further adding to his torment, Buffy raised one leg slightly, pressing against his thighs, just below the one place he *wanted* her to touch, and holding him back against the wall, not allowing him any movement at all.

 

He felt the warmth of her breath against his skin as she whispered softly, “You’re sure you wanna do this my way? Because if you’re not – we can call this off any time…”

 

“No!” he said emphatically – or as emphatically as it was possible for him to speak in a voice that was trembling, breaking with his need for her. “I – I trust you, Buffy…I’m not backing out…”

 

There was a moment of silence that seemed to go on forever, and he knew that his response had surprised her. It shouldn’t have; he had allowed things to go on this far – how could she think that he would back down *now*?

 

She really did not know him at all.

 

“All right,” the Slayer conceded softly, her hands slowly releasing their grip on his wrists, as she moved away from him, allowing him to move away from the wall. “Come on.” Her small hand took one of his, and he followed as she led him toward the stairs.

 

He knew her house well enough to know that much.

 

She was surprised at how easily they made it up the stairs, even with Spike blindfolded and unable to see where he was going. He didn’t seem to have any trouble – as if he was used to navigating these stairs, and could do it without even thinking about it.

 

She wondered suddenly with a little pang of guilt, how many times Spike had come up these stairs in the months following her jump from Glory’s tower – how many times he had offered comfort to her grieving little sister.

 

*He doesn’t deserve this,* she thought suddenly – but that thought was followed immediately by another, ironically justifying her actions again.

 

*Just the fact that you can think about doing this to him proves that he deserves *better* than you – you have to do this – you have to make him let you go…*

 

Spike knew when they walked into the Slayer’s bedroom; her scent surrounded him, sweet and heavy and covering nearly everything in the room. He froze for a moment, stunned and a bit awed that she had brought him here. He had longed for her to allow him to be with her here – to accept him that much – but had never thought that it would be possible.

 

Of course – in his fantasies, they were making sweet love in her bed, not playing a kinky sex game. He shrugged.

 

He could adjust.

 

Buffy stopped him suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, her hands holding his arms for a moment and stilling him, before releasing him and stepping back a couple of steps.

 

When he felt her heat moving slowly away from him, he frowned slightly, and took a hesitant step forward. “Buffy…?” he began hesitantly, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

 

“Just – stay right there. Don’t move.” There was a subtle note of command to her voice that he could tell was put on, just Buffy trying to act tough, to go along with the game.

 

Didn’t make it any less hot.

 

He froze in place, still, silent – waiting.

 

“So,” she spoke softly after a long moment, and he could sense that she was in front of him, a few yards away – and sitting down, judging by the sound of her voice. “You’re gonna do whatever I tell you to do?”

 

The thoughtful speculation in her voice was tinged with a hint of amusement – and he felt a rush of arousal at the thought of her. He could picture her – sitting there in the chair across from her bed, watching him, probably with her legs crossed and one swinging slowly – thinking up dirty, nasty little things to do with him.

 

Again – the thought should have been frightening. She was the Slayer – any vampire in their right mind would have known better than to give her this much power over him – would have run as fast as he could in the opposite direction.

 

But Spike – well, it just made him hot.

 

“Anything, love,” he replied, his voice calm and even. After a moment’s silence, he asked expectantly, “So – what do you want me to do?”

 

The Slayer was silent for a moment, considering. Then, she spoke – a low, husky sound of dangerous desire in her voice that sent a rush of blood straight to his groin as she gave him her first order.

 

“Take off your shirt.”

 

He smiled, a bit self-satisfied. So the Slayer wanted a show, did she? He’d bloody well *give* her a show!

 

Slowly, taking his time, he slid the black t-shirt he wore up and over his head, running his hands suggestively over the smooth, pale flesh of his chest as he did so. He was careful to stretch the neck of the shirt when he pulled it over his head, so as not to accidentally remove the blindfold and forfeit the game.

 

“Wanna see what’s yours, do you, pet?” he said in a low, seductive voice, his hands trailing back down over his own body, pausing to circle slowly around his nipples before coming to hover an inch or two from his zipper, in anticipation of her next command.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, a light, teasing note to her voice. “I see – and I like…”

 

“Quite a bit more to the package, love,” he smirked, and she could imagine the cocky glint that would show in his sapphire eyes, if she had allowed him to reveal them.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she shot back, her voice hardening slightly – and he felt his cock jump slightly in response to the sound. “Take off your pants.”

 

His hands froze on the button of his fly when she suddenly added, as an afterthought, “And don’t you *dare* touch yourself! You put yourself in my hands for the night -- *I’ll* decide when you get off!” The hard note suddenly faded from her voice as she added sweetly, teasingly, “Okay?”

 

His breath was coming harder now, his desire driven higher by her possessive, demanding tones. He knew that she was playing a game – but she was certainly getting into it. And the more into her part she became, the more her arousal seemed to fill the room – and the more desperate his own need became.

 

He nodded, replying in a harsh whisper, “Right, love,” as his hands slowly unfastened the button of his jeans, and tugged the zipper down, careful not to come into contact with his throbbing, weeping erection, before moving to his hips to slide the jeans slowly off of his body, stepping out of them and kicking them a few feet away…

 

Baring himself to her completely. The little thrill he felt was a combination of desperate arousal, pride at sensing her silent reaction to the sight of his body – and apprehension, though he never would have admitted it to her. He was standing here, blindfolded and naked in the Slayer’s bedroom – waiting for her to decide what to do about it.

 

“You are so…freakin’…*hot*.”

 

The low, lusty whisper that came from the Slayer’s lips sent another rush through him, and his hand moved automatically toward his needy member – freezing after going only an inch or two, as he remembered her command. He heard her soft footsteps as she rose and moved slowly toward him; he could wait.

 

He would much rather *her* hands touch him anyway.

 

He felt the heat radiating off of her still-clothed body, as she moved in close to him, walking slowly behind him. He did not move, did not speak – just waited to see what she would do.

 

The next moment, he felt her soft, hot hands on his arms, running down to his wrists and pulling his hands down to his sides. He felt the soft cotton of her loose, flowy skirt falling, shifting slightly, against his butt and thighs, as she moved in very near behind him, her hands sliding around him to rest on his stomach.

 

“Don’t move,” she whispered in his ear, her voice almost tender – but not quite. The dominant emotion in her voice was most definitely still sheer lust.

 

Her hands slowly slid up his stomach, taking her time and feeling over his rock-hard, perfectly built abs, moving up to his chest, where she traced slow circles with her fingertips, moving gradually inward to the more sensitive skin around his nipples.

 

He moaned softly, pleadingly, his hands at his sides trembling, aching with the desire to touch her – or himself, for that matter – to do *anything* but the nothing that she was allowing them to do. His manhood throbbed with need for contact, his erection swelling to a point of desperation – but she did not touch him there.

 

When she pinched his nipples lightly, her lips falling to kiss his throat gently, he gasped out, “Buffy – Buffy, please…”

 

“Shhh…” she whispered, her lips on his throat quirking up in a little smile, before she lifted her head – and pulled back away from him, moving a little ways across the room behind him.

 

He could not help the low whimper that rose in his throat when she stopped touching him, though he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t sure if she would count it, but he certainly wasn’t going to fail her challenge over not obeying such a simple command as the one she had just given him to be quiet.

 

He heard her low, throaty chuckle of self-satisfaction at the effect she was having on him, and could tell by her voice that she was turned slightly away from him. He heard the quiet sound of a drawer opening and closing again, and then with relief, realized that she was returning to stand behind him again – her steps slow, unhurried – drawing out the torture of waiting.

 

He shuddered with relief, as he felt her press in against him again, one arm wrapping gently around his body – and then the other.

 

And in the other, was a familiar metal object, cool against his chest where it fell, as she dangled it slightly, teasingly, in her hand in front of him. He wondered for an instant how and when she had managed to slip the handcuffs out of his crypt – or if perhaps she had gone to the trouble of picking up her own pair…

 

Then he stopped thinking completely for a moment, as the Slayer repeated the question of the hour, rising up on her toes to whisper seductively in his ear.

 

“Do you trust me?”


	7. Chapter 7

The shiver that went down Spike’s spine in that moment had less to do with the cool metal against his room-temperature skin than with the enticing suggestion in the Slayer’s softly spoken words. She waited silently for his answer, her arm resting across his shoulder, the cuffs swinging slowly from her hand, brushing against his already highly sensitized skin – as he weighed the decision.

He had been with other women before – but never had he been with anyone who could rival the passion, the fire, the raw reckless need, of his gorgeous golden Slayer. The idea of yielding himself to her so completely – deliberately placing full control in her hands, and allowing her to quite literally have her way with him was a thrilling thought – but also frightening.

His instincts recognized what his heart, his body, wanted to deny – that submitting himself to the Slayer in this way was reckless, dangerous, and potentially deadly. His demon roared his protest at the idea of such submission, placing himself at the mercy of his mortal enemy.

Of course, he reminded himself quickly, it wasn’t as if he would be in any *real* danger. After all, if the handcuffs in her hands were his own, or anything like them, they were a cheap, lingerie shop toy – no match for his vampire strength, easily broken if he wanted to – as easily as Buffy could have broken them the night before, if she would only have yielded to him then.

Not to mention the fact that Buffy would never actually hurt him.

Would she?

His thoughts were interrupted by her quiet, calm voice, still carrying a note of hushed seduction, as she went on softly, “Now, before you make up your mind – there’s something you should know.” She paused, and he waited breathlessly, as her empty hand slowly ran up and down his chest, in soft, feather-light caresses that only fanned the raging flame of his need.

“These handcuffs are enchanted,” she informed him, her hands stilling for a moment when she felt him tense in surprise – or fear? – at her words.

Realizing that she had sensed his reaction, he deliberately relaxed his shoulders, taking a deep breath or two to steady himself, as she went on, “They won’t break like ordinary handcuffs, no matter how strong the person wearing them is. They will only open when the person who puts them on you…” She paused, leaning in to whisper, so near that her lips brushed his ear, “…and that would be me, Baby…” She drew back slightly to continue, “…takes them off.”

Moving back, raising her voice again to a normal level, but still with a dark, sultry note to it that sent a fresh shiver of mingled desire and apprehension down his spine, she finished, “So once you put them on – you’re mine, Spike – until *I* decide to let you go…”

His stomach dropped, and his throbbing member jumped slightly, in his reaction to her words. So the Slayer was raising the stakes a bit, was she – so to speak? He quickly reconsidered, his mind racing with the possibilities that this new bit of information raised.

It made no difference, he told himself. He trusted her. So what if the power she would be wielding over him would be just a bit more real than he had originally thought.

But, unbidden, darker thoughts came to his mind. How many times had Buffy threatened to stake him? How many times had she told him that she should have done it a long time ago, or told him that she wished he was out of her life for good?

Was it possible that she might use this little game to accomplish that desire? She wouldn’t do something like that to him – would she?

*No,* he reassured himself firmly. *She wouldn’t.*

Because in spite of the fact that she despised him, looked down on him as the thing beneath her that he was – despite the fact that she did not want to want him…

She *did* want him. More than that, she needed him. He was the only one she had been able to turn to in the past few painful months. She could not destroy her one source of comfort in the darkness that her world had descended into.

She *loved* him…he knew it. Even if she did not know it yet. But she would – eventually. That was what he kept telling himself, what he kept insisting in the quiet, dark moments when she had left him alone, like she always did in the end. Through the tears that streaked his face in those times, he would tell himself over and over that she *did* love him – she did – and in time, she would come to see it.

But the question of the moment was – just how determined was she to prove to herself that she did *not* love him?

And in the next moment, his decision was made.

It was simple, really.

He had a choice – to yield himself to whatever she had planned for him for this evening, to give himself to her and place his pleasure, his well-being, his very life in her hands for her to do with it what she would…

Or to refuse – and give her the justification that she was seeking, the excuse to deny that there was any beauty or goodness to what they shared, and walk away and leave him forever.

It was a simple choice, really.

Did he trust her -- *really* trust her – not to take advantage of this power she was asking him to give her, and use it to destroy him?

It didn’t really matter.

He would rather be dust at her hand than to spend the rest of his unlife without her.

“ ‘M already all yours, pet,” he replied quietly at last. “You know that.”

The poignant emotion in his soft voice smote Buffy’s heart with a fresh pang of guilt. For using him for all these months, when she knew that his feelings went so much deeper than hers – for treating those feelings so callously at times, even if she did not share them…

For what she was about to do…

“Just checking,” Buffy replied, her tone forcedly light. “I mean – this is quite a risk you’re taking…I just wanna be sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. For any vampire to place himself at the mercy of a Slayer – well – that’s pretty dangerous…”

“Not this vampire, not this Slayer,” he replied with a confidence that sounded convincing, whether he felt it or not. “I trust you, Buffy. I told you already.” He paused, before adding with a smirk, “Several times. Are you trying to convince *yourself* I don’t mean it? Cause you’re soddin’ well not gonna convince *me*!”

Her hand on his chest stilled for a moment, and he knew that somehow he had struck a nerve with his words. Then an instant later, her hand was back in motion, sliding down his chest, and further, resting for a moment on his hip before sliding inward.

He gasped, his back arching slightly as she leaned in close again, her voice soft as she replied, “Not trying to convince anyone of anything, Baby…just wanna be sure you know what you’re doing…” As she spoke, her hand came to rest a bare inch above the base of his erection, and her thumb moved slowly in a rotating gesture that sent a new flood of sensation coursing through his body.

“Bloody hell, Slayer!” he gasped, his head falling back slightly, overwhelmed with his desire. “If you think I’m backing out *now*, you’re out of your bleedin’ mind!”

The soft, throaty chuckle that left the Slayer’s lips then sent a little shiver of desire and apprehension down his spine with the realization – she had him right where she wanted him, and she knew it.

He was hers.

“No,” she agreed quietly, her hand rising from where it lay low on his abdomen, and moving to clasp his wrist in a gentle but firm grip. “You’re not.” She paused for a moment, lowering her hand from his shoulder and bringing both of his wrists behind his back. “Not now,” she added, locking them into the cuffs.

He felt a sense of mingled apprehension and expectancy at the metallic click of the cuffs around his wrists, and instinctively tested their strength. The Slayer was not bluffing; the weak metal that should have broken under his vampire strength was unyielding.

Suddenly, he felt Buffy’s soft, warm hand come to rest on his, twisting slightly in the cuffs, still searching for a weakness in them without even realizing he was doing it -- and he froze, waiting to see what she would do next. The Slayer’s hand moved from his, and then he felt her hands on his shoulders, moving down his arms, leaning in and pulling him closer to her at the same time.

“So tense,” she murmured softly, before her lips fell on his throat in a tender kiss – but he could feel the little smile on them just before she spoke again in a whisper. “Scared?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied immediately. “Not of you. I trust you, Buffy.” He paused for a moment, considering before speaking his next words, a slow smirk coming over his own face with a flash of insight. “But I’m beginning to think that *you* might be.”

He felt her completely freeze behind him, and knew that he had hit on the truth. “What?” she whispered, and he could hear a subtle note of defensive anger in her voice.

“Why are you trying so hard to get me to back out, Buffy?” he asked her, smiling openly now, a teasing note to his voice. “Way I see it, you’ve got me right where you bloody want me. Problem is – maybe you don’t know what to do with me!”

He could almost hear the Slayer’s jaw drop at his bold audacity in the face of his situation. “Yes, I – I most certainly…” she sputtered defensively, only confirming the suspicions he had stated.

He laughed, knowing as he did that he was only further incensing her. “Right…that’s why you’re dragging it out so, right, love?”

“I’m not dragging…I…ooh!” the Slayer nearly growled with the frustration that he prided himself in knowing only *he* could bring out in her. He could picture her struggling to regain her composure – and then he could picture the forced smile on her face, as she fought to stay calm and in control, as she stopped touching him and moved around to stand in front of him.

“I don’t know what to do with you, huh?” she echoed, her voice trembling slightly, though much calmer now, and he could almost hear the tight smile, see the furious flames in her defiant green eyes. “Looks like I’m gonna have to try to figure it out then, aren’t I?”

That dangerously seductive note was back in her voice, and he felt a stirring within him, driving his desire higher. Still, he kept his expression mildly mocking as he agreed, “Looks like, don’t it, love?”

He loved being able to get the better of her, even when she should have been in complete…

“Bloody hell!” he gasped, his thoughts forcefully scattered as he felt a small, hot hand fist around the base of his erection, pulling him firmly closer to her, and a bit off balance, without the use of his hands to catch himself.

Her thumb rested beneath his member, at the very base, and began to rub in a slow, intense circle that made him draw in a sharp, shuddering breath, his knees buckling slightly beneath him. Quickly Buffy caught his arm, holding him up, keeping him from collapsing on the floor right there.

She leaned in close to him, her hand still wrapped around him, too tightly to be comfortable, but not tightly enough to be painful, as she whispered in a tone of amusement and triumph, “How’m I doing? Getting warm yet?”

“God!” he gasped. “Buffy!” He was gasping for breath, incapable of any other speech by this point.

And she had been touching him for all of five seconds.

“Come on,” she ordered brightly, suddenly ending the work her hand was doing for the moment, with a startlingly sharp tug on his manhood in the general direction that she wanted him to go – toward the bed, though he had no way of knowing that.

Through the powerful sensations she was causing him – he didn’t really know much of anything at the moment.

“Bloody hell, woman, what are you *doing*?” he moaned, stepping quickly in the direction she had pulled him, alarmed at the momentary sharp sensation.

But she quickly released her hold on his erection the moment he started in the direction she was leading – not even she was *that* cruel – opting to lead him by the arm instead, and giving him a much needed break from the intense touching that was swiftly reducing him to a babbling, desperate wreck.

“I’m not really sure,” she replied with a shrug, her tone teasing and self-satisfied. “Figuring it out as I go along, I guess.” She stopped him when they reached the bed, turning him around to face her, so that his back was to the bed, leaning in close to his ear, her hand playing affectionately through his hair as she whispered the confiding question, “How am I doing so far?”

He could not even form a response, still trying to catch his breath.

Buffy, however, seemed satisfied. She nodded as she said, “Good. I think that’s enough of a warm up.” He could not see it through the blindfold, but her emerald eyes held a wicked shimmer as she gently took his shoulders and pushed him down to sit on the bed, pushing him back a little before straddling his lap, drawing another gasp from the vampire’s lips at the feeling of her heat so very close to his throbbing need.

Smiling, Buffy leaned in to kiss him again, her lips, her tongue, tenderly caressing his trembling, gasping mouth, before pulling back to murmur softly, “Let’s get this party started, Baby.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Bloody hell, Slayer! What are you doing to me?”

Buffy laughed softly, a wicked, gleeful note to the sound, and slowly rotated her hips, pressing her body through the skirt that still covered it against his bare and highly sensitized manhood.

Spike gasped, his head falling back slightly, as she slid one hand between them, stroking slowly down the length of his member in a torturously gentle way.

“Oh, come on, Baby!” she teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve had enough *already*?

I’ve barely even touched you! But you know – if you want me to stop…” He could almost see her careless shrug of indifference to match her tone.

“*No*!” the vampire growled menacingly in a mixture of frustration, and fear that she might actually do as she had suggested. “Don’t you bloody dare stop now, Slayer! You can’t just get a bloke all worked up and then quit on him!”

A disbelieving, challenging sort of huff left the Slayer’s lips as she replied, “Actually, Sweetie – I can! It’s my right to stop anytime I want to. Maybe you being evil and all, you wouldn’t know, but the whole ‘She got me so worked up I couldn’t stop,’ excuse stopped being acceptable about forty years ago. I mean, obviously *you* wouldn’t care, but still…”

It was a painful irony that a couple of years earlier, Spike would have taken offense, demanding that she take her words back, if she had suggested that he was *not* evil.

Now, however, her implication that he would not respect her rights to say no, hurt, worse than he cared to admit. He covered it the best he could with his usual, ready defense – a smart aleck response.

“Yeah,” he scoffed. “Like I need a lecture on what’s *acceptable* from the girl who’s got me in handcuffs and is sitting on me on her bed!”

“With your consent,” she pointed out, unfazed by his comment. “And *lying* on you on my bed.”

He frowned in confusion. He may have been blindfolded, but he knew his sense of direction and balance were excellent, and he knew that he was *not* lying down.

Yet.

“What…?”

Before the question could even leave his lips, Buffy shoved him forcefully down on the mattress, falling on top of him, cutting off any words of protest by emphatically kissing him breathless. Well – more breathless than he already was.

When she finally drew back out of the kiss, she noticed that Spike was shifting uncomfortably on the bed, pulling slightly against the handcuffs that held his hands between his back and the bed.

Before she could ask him what the matter was, he volunteered, grumbling, “Not too bloody comfortable, Slayer – my hands under me like this. You know there’s a lot of other ways to do the whole handcuff thing – can’t we try one?”

“You know,” she mused, her tone light and playful, as she slid down his body a bit to place a slow, lazy kiss on his chest. “Somehow, I’m not all that concerned with your comfort at the moment. Huh.” She kissed him again. “Go figure.”

*Yeah. Go figure,* he echoed sarcastically in his mind, not without a bit of resentment. *When has she *ever* been the least bloody bit concerned with my comfort?*

He almost asked the question aloud, but thought better of it. He was beginning to get the impression that it could be a really, *really* bad idea to make her angry right now.

So he settled for reiterating his complaint. “Seriously, love, I could think of a lot more interesting, less awkward ways to use these…”

She startled him into silence when she suddenly rose up and grabbed a handful of his disheveled blonde curls, pulling his head very close to hers, her grip rough and stinging, but not exactly painful – just enough to emphasize his vulnerability, and her control over him.

She leaned in close to his ear as she said in a soft, deliciously dangerous voice, “Are you gonna quiet whining – or am I gonna have to gag you?”

The playful note to her voice made the threat more exciting than frightening – though he had to admit that it was a little bit of both. And there was no concealing from he his reaction to her words – not with his eager member clearly showing its approval of the suggestion, pressing harder against her body as her mouth descended to kiss his throat.

She immediately pulled back, and he heard her laugh softly, as she trailed her free hand down his body to close firmly around the intrusive organ. He gasped as she began to rub slow little circles with her thumb, and a powerful sensation of pleasure coursed through his body at the touch.

She responded to the encouragement, increasing the pressure she was exerting, at the same moment tugging his head back slightly, with a little twist of her hand that caused just enough of a twinge of pain to heighten Spike’s pleasure.

“Buffy,” he moaned in feverish need. “God, *Buffy*!”

He struggled uselessly against the handcuffs that bound him, without even realizing he was doing it – simply desperate to touch her.

“Still uncomfortable, Baby?” Buffy’s voice was falsely sympathetic, as she misunderstood his restless movements. She pressed in closer against him, carelessly pressing his back down harder onto his hands, increasing his discomfort.

Or on second thought, he realized, through the *very* powerful distraction of her touch – probably not carelessly.

Probably more like *deliberately*.

*Sadistic little chit!*

Her lips brushed against his ear, her hot breath a tantalizing caress on his skin as she whispered in his ear, “I think I can make you forget all about it…”

And just like that – he already *had* forgotten about it.

The enticing promise in her words made his entire body tingle with anticipation, as she slowly raised her body up off of him, lowering her lips to tenderly kiss him on the mouth once more, taking her time and slowly, thoroughly caressing his mouth with hers – the sensation intensified by the fact that she was no longer touching him anywhere else at the moment.

He did not think that she had kissed him this much before, in all the time they had been seeing each other. Usually, Buffy would not allow things to reach such a level of intimacy and affection. If it went beyond overwhelming, primal passion, to something deeper, a tenderness, a caring that was too much for her scarred, scared heart to handle – she would quickly shut things down.

But that intimacy, that tenderness – that “something deeper” – was what Spike craved.

He drank it in desperately, like a man dying of thirst.

When she drew away, and he felt the slight depression of the mattress beside him as she got up off the bed, he tried to suppress the sudden, unreasonable sense of pain, the ache of loss, at losing contact with her. Most times, he could keep her there with him at least briefly, hold her close to him, whisper words he knew she did not want to hear – but *needed* to.

This time, he was prevented even from touching her.

“Buffy…” he whispered, in a voice that trembled and broke over her name, his need for her unmistakable in the single spoken word. Instinctively he tried to rise, to follow her – but an instant later, felt her soft, strong hands push him back down on the bed.

“Did I say you could get up?” she whispered in his ear, her tone somewhere between taunting and affection, as she ran her hands lightly over his shoulders, massaging them gently from where she stood beside the bed.

“Relax,” she advised softly. “Just let me do this, Spike.”

*Let her do *what*?* he wondered with a bit of apprehension, troubled by the hint of sadness he heard in her soft voice.

Something had made her relent for the moment, giving him back the affection she almost always withdrew the moment she realized she had given it. The tenderness, the warmth with which she was treating him, once again set loose a jumbled confusion of emotions in his heart.

On the one hand he wanted to allow himself to simply enjoy the rare treasure that was Buffy’s gentle touch, tender kiss – simple kindness and affection. He so seldom got the chance to experience it at all, and he craved it, needed it desperately. The sensitive, broken-hearted poet in him wanted to cherish every fleeting moment of it for the brief time that he knew would be all that it would last.

But a part of him could not help but be very apprehensive and a bit fearful of Buffy’s unusual behavior. She had obviously planned this night out very carefully, preparing for it, making sure that everything would go as she intended it to. The question was – just what exactly *did* she intend?

He kept getting the rather frightening feeling that he had agreed to something that could end up hurting him terribly in the end.

He was not stupid. He had not spent over a century as a master vampire for nothing. He knew – had known from the moment she had first put the blindfold over his eyes in the graveyard and repeated his fateful question back to him – that she was planning something, and that if her treatment of him thus far meant anything, the end result would likely be as heart-breaking as every other encounter he had ever had with her.

But he also knew that if he refused to accept her challenge, or backed out of it now, he would only be giving her the excuse she needed to walk away from him forever.

And no matter what happened to him – he could not let that happen. He was not too stupid to realize the emotional danger he was placing himself in by playing along with her little game.

He simply loved Buffy too much to care.

He obediently tried to relax under her touch, trying to focus on the deep, soothing motions of her hands on his shoulders, slow, even movements designed to relax him and put him at ease, rather than the doubts and insecurities and outright fears struggling for dominance of his emotions.

Or his desperate but thus far sorely neglected cock, for that matter.

The next time he felt Buffy’s hands leave his body, he forced himself to stay put, though he felt all the tension she had just carefully worked out of his muscles immediately return, with his apprehension.

He had no idea exactly where she was or what she would do next.

Whether it was through the use of magic, as her lack of scent before – or through her own well-honed Slayer skills, Buffy was absolutely, perfectly silent.

For all he knew, she may not even have been in the room anymore.

Here he was, blindfolded and bound and naked, lying across the bed sideways with his legs and painfully swollen erection hanging off the side of the bed – just *waiting* for the *Slayer* to do whatever it was she had in mind to do with him – and for all he knew, she might have just left him altogether.

Maybe *that* was her plan for his utter humiliation.

And how bloody pathetic was it, that *that* was the most terrifying thing he could imagine that Buffy could do to him?

He was mentally berating himself for his perpetual state of wankerhood that always brought him into these situations of emotional or physical helplessness to sadistic, insane bints who took his love and used it to torture him – when the Slayer reassured him of her presence in a most unmistakable way.

He nearly came off the bed again at the searing, wet heat that suddenly surrounded just the very tip of his manhood.

“Bloody soddin’ *hell*!” he gasped, thrusting almost reflexively up toward the source of the sudden, shocking heat against his cool, over-sensitive flesh -- Buffy’s mouth – which immediately drew back at his response, leaving him longing and more achingly hard than he had been moments before – more so than he had thought possible, in fact.

“Unh-uh,” Buffy said in a quiet, teasingly stern voice, and by the sound of her voice he could tell that she was kneeling in front of him, between his spread legs. She raised one hand, placing it low on his stomach, directly above his throbbing erection, and pressing him down firmly against the mattress. There was a hardness to her voice that only served to intensify his own…er…*hardness*…when she spoke again.

“Don’t make me tell you again not to move.”

He did not know which thought was more arousing to him – the knowledge that he was bound, virtually helpless, spread out and exposed for the Slayer to do with as she would, completely at her mercy…or the fact that said Slayer was currently kneeling attentively on the floor at his feet, ready to attend to the need she had been creating in him.

He fervently wished the blindfold away; *that* was a sight he would give just about anything to see.

While Buffy was not opposed to pleasuring him with her mouth, and actually did it quite often, she never -- *never* -- did so on her knees, as she was now. In bed was one thing – but although she could not possibly make herself more physically vulnerable than she had made herself during the heights of their passion, she refused to give herself to him in that way, refused to lower herself to that level, he supposed.

He didn’t really think it was about *physical* vulnerability, actually – judging by the fact that the one time she had ever done it in that way, on her knees in front of him, had been while she was invisible – and he could not…see her…

Understanding came to him in that instant, in the midst of his desire and need and the rampant, desperate sensations coursing through his body – as he understood that particular little foible of his Slayer.

It was all about power.

This whole thing had started because her friends had stolen away any sense of control she might have had, dragging her back from the most important choice she had ever made, making her feel unspeakably helpless and vulnerable and more out of control than she ever had in her life.

But with Spike – Buffy was in control.

She knew how he felt about her. She knew that because of how he felt about her, she could get him to do just about anything she wanted.

*Case in point, mate,* he reminded himself grimly.

Of course Buffy didn’t mind getting him off with her pretty, hot little mouth – so long as he could not in any way see her as submissive to him because of it.

*No chance of that,* he thought dryly. *A bloke can’t get much more helpless than…*

His thoughts were cut off when he suddenly felt her forefinger and thumb close around the head of his erection firmly – not painfully – but very, *very* close – and sending a wave of powerful sensation through his body.

“I don’t think you were listening to me, Spikey,” Buffy said, her voice calm and mild, but with a tone of false hurt, as she squeezed just slightly, eliciting a moan of intense mingled pleasure and pain from the vampire’s throat. “Listening now?”

“Yeah!” he gasped out, his back arching as he struggled to focus on what she was saying. “God, yes, Buffy…I’m listening…”

“I *said*…” Buffy went on, a bit over-dramatically, easing her hold on him and sliding her fingers idly down his shaft on either side, then back up again to the tip, back and forth, up and down as she spoke.

How the bleedin’ hell did she expect him to actually *listen* to her?

And yet he did.

He knew better than to not.

“…don’t…move…” Buffy went on, her voice hushed, barely over a whisper, as she continued the cruelly slow, intense motion of her hand on his sensitive skin, driving him ever nearer to the edge.

“…don’t speak…” she continued, whispering now, as her warm fingertips slid under his erect member to lightly caress the sensitive, rarely touched flesh there, and he moaned, his body shuddering with his desperate efforts not to move.

“…and whatever you do…” she whispered, leaning down close to him, as she slowly slid her thumb and forefinger back to their original position, emphasizing her final point with a pinch that was harder than before, hard enough to draw a desperate, strangled whimper from the vampire’s throat as his back arched again.

But he managed to keep himself still for the most part, under her hand.

Her voice lowered even further, taking on a commanding intensity as she whispered, “…don’t….*come*…until I tell you you can!”

Now that was just bloody cruel!

The command itself, the dark, sultry tone of her voice, the danger and excitement of the whole scenario, did more to push him toward disobeying her command than anything she had done to him so far.

But he *didn’t* disobey. There was one thing the Slayer had taught him so far this night.

He had been wrong.

A bloke could get a *lot* more helpless than he had been before.

As Buffy finally released him, returning to kneel in front of him again, and taking him into her hot, hungry mouth, drawing him cruelly toward an intensity of pleasure that she would not yet allow him to fulfill – Spike had the feeling that before the night was through, the Slayer would have a lot more to teach him – but he was not afraid. In fact, he relished the opportunity.

He had quite a bit he wanted to teach *her*, too.


	9. Chapter 9

Within about five minutes, Spike knew without a doubt that he was thoroughly, completely buggered.

There was no way that he was going to be able to obey the Slayer’s merciless, utterly unreasonable command, her knew – not with the expert actions of her hot, wet mouth working him closer and closer to the edge of sweet oblivion.

Did she even know what she was *doing* to him?

*Of course she does, mate,* he reminded himself. *That’s why she’s doing it. And she calls *you* evil!*

“You know, pet…” he gasped out, around a strangled moan of pleasure as the Slayer employed her teeth, gently but firmly, on the underside of his erection, “…some things – are bloody well – out of a bloke’s hands, love…I’ve only got…*gah!*…so much control, B-*Buffy*! Bloody hell!” He moaned, hardly able to maintain a coherent thought, let alone get it out properly, under her expert ministrations.

Much to his dismay, however, as soon as he *did*, the soft heat of the Slayer’s mouth immediately left his member, intensely more desperate now than it had been before she started. The cool air of the room felt frigid against his hard, quivering manhood, and he immediately longed for her to touch him again.

“Well, maybe you’d better get *more* control, Spikey,” Buffy suggested in a light, mocking tone of wicked amusement, and in the next moment, he felt her fingertips lightly stroking over the sensitive underside of his balls.

His back arched and his body thrust involuntarily upward toward nothing, as he drew in a sharp breath at the unexpected powerful touch – just before she withdrew her hand completely. “*Please!*” he gasped. “Buffy, *please*!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” she mused playfully. “I mean – if you can’t take it and still do as I say…” There was a false concern in her voice, as he heard it move as she stood up from where she had been, on her knees between his legs, to a spot nearer to his head. Her voice was soft and wickedly enticing as she added, “I’d hate to have to punish you.”

He stifled the groan of mingled desire and frustration that rose up in him at her words, the reaction that would have made it even more obvious to her just how well her little torture act, refusing to grant him the satisfaction that he craved, was working.

*Yeah – like she can’t tell by the ‘you moaning her name and begging for more’ bit!*

“You know you’re bloody eviler than I am, right?” he gasped, his voice breaking slightly, as he struggled to regain his breath. It was easier than before, because of the fact that she was currently *not* touching him…

Though that was certainly not a fact he was pleased with in any way.

“You know,” Buffy said thoughtfully, and he could imagine the pensive little frown that would be crinkling her flawless brow, the adorable little wrinkle of her nose as she considered before speaking, a hard note to her calm, quiet voice, “I’m fairly certain I told you *no* talking!”

*Adorable my arse! Soddin’ bint’s a bloody sadist!*

“Buffy, love,” he objected softly, his tone pleading and apologetic, aware that any attempt at salvaging his pride in this particular situation would be useless. “I didn’t mean to, pet…please…I swear, pet, I’m gonna dust if you don’t touch me…”

He was handcuffed, naked on the Slayer’s bed, with an erection to end all erections that he was currently refusing to touch because he had failed to go along with her unreasonable demands.

Pride lost all meaning when a bloke was in a position like that.

However, his humble pleading did not have quite the effect he wanted on the impassive Slayer, who merely moved around the bed behind him, leaning across it so that her head was near his shoulder, not saying a word – yet.

“Please, Buffy,” he babbled breathlessly, as the Slayer began to kiss his throat, his shoulder, his chest, moving down his body in a slow, leisurely way. The feel of her soft, silken hair against his bare skin as she moved only served to drive him to a greater level of need, without her ever touching his mercilessly teased and now cruelly neglected cock.

“I won’t talk, I won’t move, won’t do a bloody thing unless you want me to! Please, I’ll be quiet…please, Buffy…”

The Slayer raised her mouth from its torturously mild attentions at those words.

“And yet,” she murmured softly, with a faint note of amusement. “you’re still talking.”

He felt her soft, warm hand reach down to rest on his side, just above his hip, her fingertips sliding upward in a slow, sensuous, feather-light touch that sent deliciously pleasurable little shivers up his spine, and a jolt of sensation straight to his aching, desperate manhood.

“Wonder what the problem is?” Buffy whispered in his ear, in a low, suggestive tone, lightly scratching up his ribcage with her fingernails, smiling against his neck when she felt the shudder that went through him at her touch.

She brought her other hand to his other side, wrapping her arms around him from behind, employing both hands to drive him made with soft, enticing touches, moving slowly from his sides to his chest, as she lowered her mouth again to kiss her way from his shoulder to his throat, pausing for a moment over the faded but still present, century-old scar from his sire’s bite.

He held his breath when he realized what had caught her attention, wondering what she would do. He was desperately craving an intensity that she was at the moment deliberately withholding from him, teasing him with playful, suggestive moves which served only to *increase* his desire, without doing a bloody thing to satisfy it.

But now – her attention was focused on the scars on his throat – and the intensity seemed to have returned to the equation for the Slayer, as he heard her heartbeat quicken slightly, and her hands stilled for a moment on his chest.

But then, just as quickly, Buffy recovered – at least outwardly – and her hands resumed their slow, sensuous tour of his body, coming to rest on his chest, her fingertips tracing light, tingling little circles around his sensitive nipples as she leaned in to whisper in his ear in a low, almost dangerous voice,

“I thought you said you were all mine.”

The unmistakably possessive note to her voice, in combination with her sensual, intimate touch, nearly brought about the climax he was desperately fighting not to achieve – not yet.

“I am,” he whispered in a low, husky voice of deep emotion, the words coming out without his really thinking about them. “I *am* yours, Buffy – completely.”

She froze again, and he suddenly felt a little sick feeling begin in the pit of his stomach, the beginnings of a sensation he had felt many times, over and over throughout the time he had spent with Buffy these past few months.

He had done it again.

He had said precisely the wrong thing, something too intimate and intense to allow her to continue to pretend that there was nothing between them but physical lust – and any moment now, she would be standing up and hurrying out, fleeing the depth of feeling that always seemed to terrify her so, and send her running from his arms.

He only hoped that she remembered to take the handcuffs off first.

The fact that this time, they were in *her* house did not even occur to him.

But Buffy surprised him again, when instead of immediately moving away from him, she only raised one of her hands from his chest to cover his mouth, whispering in his ear with playful, mock severity, “*Shhh*!” She took him by surprise when her other hand, still playing idly over his chest, rose to pinch his nipple sharply.

She pressed her hand more firmly over his mouth, muffling the little cry that rose in his throat, as she whispered against his ear, “What does it take to shut that mouth of yours up, Baby?”

The playfully threatening tone of her voice, demanding his silence – the increased sensation of being out of control due to her hot little hand *enforcing* his silence – and the slight twinge of pain mingled with pleasure that came from her touch on his body sent him hurtling dangerously closer to the edge at breakneck speed.

He gasped for breath as her fingertips gently soothed the spot she had pinched, pressing hard enough against the sensitive flesh to stimulate him further as she did so.

Her light, gentle kisses moving up his throat again sent a fresh tremor of desire all through him that was only intensified when she moved her hand from his mouth to his forehead, pressing his head back and baring his throat to her attentions.

Her voice was low, lusty, and possessive as she whispered, “You better *believe* you’re mine!”

He didn’t know which shocked him more – the throaty, desirous words that thrilled him to his very core at hearing them – or what she did next. He was still processing the fact of what she had said, when she lowered her mouth directly over the scar on his throat and bit him – gently, not hard enough to break the skin.

Honestly, Buffy had no idea what sort of effect it would have on the vampire. For a Slayer, she was painfully clueless about things such as vampires’ sexual habits, bonds such as that between a sire and a childe, claiming and such.

She was actually quite lucky, all things considered, that she had not accidentally broken his skin, because whether or not she meant it, she would have gotten herself in far deeper than she meant to go right then.

The simple truth was, she was curious – but she was doing more than just playing.

Some part of her had not known what to expect, wanting to see what sort of a reaction she could get out of the vampire. But she instinctively knew, somehow, that it was not exactly the appropriate or accepted thing to do, to bite him on his sire’s mark – and she found herself actually hoping that her presumption would anger him.

But anger was the farthest thing from the reaction that she got.

Even such a light, gentle bite, a mystically powerless parody of his sire’s bite, had an incredibly powerful effect on the vampire she had beitten.

Maybe it was the reminder of the intense, existence-altering experience that she was playfully re-enacting, bringing to mind the first time in William’s existence that he had felt desired, wanted, like something beautiful and capable of inspiring love and devotion – anything besides repulsion – in a beautiful woman.

Or maybe it was the fact that he wanted to badly to *be* Buffy’s, to have her claim him – not necessarily in the traditional vampire sense, with the biting and bloodletting and all that went along with it – because that was more than he ever dared expect from the Slayer.

But just to have her claim him, in the sense of *not* treating him like a dark, dirty secret of which she was horribly ashamed – to have her kiss him casually, or even hold his hand, in public, with her friends – admitting what they had to the people who were close to her.

Acknowledging the gift he had already given her long ago – of himself – and openly accepting it, for all to see that he was hers – and she was his.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was all of the above, in combination with his desperate physical need of the moment, that drove him over the edge of ecstasy, consumed with pleasure he could no longer control, as he allowed the sensations he had been struggling to overcome to finally overcome *him* instead, allowing his release to engulf him completely, with a primal roar of passion as he came, hard.

“Buffy,” he gasped as the wave of sensation began to ebb, passing over him, and he began to regain control of such basic functions as speech. “Bloody hell, Buffy, what you do to me!”

The awe, the almost worshipping reverence of his voice, sent a little thrill through the Slayer’s heart, of pride, satisfaction – and a warm, gentle affection that was deeper than that – than mere affection – the one feeling in the whole mix that she desperately tried to ignore.

She frowned in frustration, trying to push all the other, more confusing emotions down. The bite had been intended to cross a line – to anger Spike, upset him, draw out of him the mistrust that she knew had to be buried somewhere within him, under the false feelings he *thought* he had for her.

She had been certain that when she had made the bold, presumptuous move of biting him as she had done, even *hinting* at obliterating the mark of his sire, the vampire he had loved for over a hundred years – it would make him furious.

She had imagined him bucking her off of him, calling her every filthy name he could think of, demanding that she free him, stalking off and, with any luck, never speaking to her again.

*With any bad, rotten, horrible luck…*

*No!* she corrected herself fiercely. *You *want* him to get over this! You want him to stop wanting you! You do! It’s for the best! You don’t love him – you *can’t* -- and he deserves someone who can…*

No, she had never imagined the surprising reaction that Spike actually had to her actions. The thought that her simple words of possessive desire, and a simple, play-acting sort of gesture, a bite that he must have hardly felt physically, could bring him enough pleasure to shove him over the edge into ecstasy, when he had been fighting it so hard, trying so hard to do as she had told him…

The idea that among all the physical pleasure she had been giving him, it was the idea of being *hers* -- of her acceptance and desire for him – that had brought him off…it was just…just…

*Disturbing,* she decided forcefully in her mind. *Upsetting. Weird…*

But the hard knot in her throat, the heavy feeling in her chest, the strange prickling sensation behind her eyes, spoke of very different emotions than those.

The slight frown that formed suddenly on the vampire’s face reminded her of his powerful sense of smell, intensified by his current lack of sight, that allowed him to smell even the faint scent of the salt of her unshed tears.

“Buffy?” he said in a soft, slightly worried voice, hoarse, barely recovered from the past few moments. “You all right, love?”

She was quiet for a moment, closing her eyes, squeezing back the tears, swallowing hard and making a concerted effort to fight back the softer -- *weak, selfish* -- emotions that were trying to take her over.

After just a moment’s hesitation, she forced a bright smile to her lips, knowing it would show in her voice, as she replied, “Just fine, Spike – wondering something, though…”

“What’s that, love?”

Damn it, that soft, gentle concerned sound was still in his voice.

Buffy did her best to ignore it.

She moved to stand beside the bed again, as the vampire was struggling unsuccessfully to pull himself up slightly on his bound arms. With a sudden, quick movement, she had seized a handful of his disheveled platinum hair, pulling his head back slightly in a dominative sort of gesture.

He relaxed his head, leaning it back into her hand, slow smile spreading across his face. It was quite obvious that she was not going to talk about what was bothering her at the moment. On the contrary, it appeared that the Slayer wanted to play – so he would go along with her little game.

As she had known that he would.

She leaned in close to his face, her free hand trailing across his chest and up to his throat, ghosting over the marks she had bitten and smiling at the shudder she had known she could get from him, before trailing her fingertips up to trace the line of his lips as she replied in a hard, dangerous voice.

“Why you’re still talking.”

She pulled his head closer to her by her fist at the back of his head, tangled in his hair, her lips descending aggressively on his and kissing him with an intensity that had him already becoming hard again. She pulled back long before he wanted her too, yet remaining so close that he could feel the movement of her lips into a wicked little smirk as she spoke softly, seductively – and yet with a hint of danger that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to punish you.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Looks like I’m going to have to punish you.”

Spike felt an odd combination of fear and excitement shudder through him at the Slayer’s dangerously suggestive words – and although it had only been about a minute since her bite had sent him soaring into ecstasy and brought about his climax, he could feel his manhood slowly stirring to life again as she spoke.

“Guess so, Baby,” he smirked, cocky in spite of his incredibly vulnerable position – a position that no master vampire in his right mind would ever allow himself to be placed in – and yet, a position he had willingly, even eagerly, submitted to. “Told you I’ve always been bad.”

*Yeah, mate…bad poet…bad luck with the women…bad judgment…*

If his current situation in life – and in the current moment – was any indication.

“Yeah, you did, didn’t you?”

Buffy laughed softly, and Spike was surprised by the reluctant sound of affection he heard in her voice at the memory he knew she was recalling, the same one that filled his mind, of a conversation nearly a year ago over a plate of chicken wings and a game of pool and grandiose stories of his past that were only partially true.

“To tell you the truth,” Buffy confessed softly, her voice drawing him back to the present, a slight mocking lilt to it as she went on, “I really didn’t believe you at the time.”

*Probably because it was a bleedin’ pack of lies for the most part,* he thought, suppressing his own slightly bitter laughter at the memory of the way he had embellished the story of his early years, toughening up his image in an effort to disguise the softness, the weakness, that had once been his nature – only to have his lies designed to impress her earn only her disgust and repulsion.

“But you know,” she went on slowly, calculatingly, “I think you’ve just about got me convinced.”

He gasped in surprise at the sudden sharp sting as she pulled his head back, hard, by the fist still tangled in his hair, a strange contrast to the tenderness that followed as she leaned in to kiss his throat, very slowly, sensually, before raising her lips to just behind his ear to whisper in a low voice that was half menace, half seduction.

“You know what I do to bad vampires?”

Spike’s lip curled up in a lascivious sneer as he replied, “Of course, love… *intimately*…”

He could hear the reluctance in Buffy’s soft laugh, knew that she was probably shaking her head, wishing that she could keep the amusement from her voice, but unable to.

“*Besides* using their bodies as my personal playthings and screwing them senseless every night,” she corrected flatly, and he was a bit surprised at the honesty and self-mockery in her voice.

“Well – yeah,” he replied with a smirk, to his credit, not missing a beat, despite the strong reaction of his body to her words. “But something tells me you’re not planning on staking me, love. Not yet, anyway. Seems to me you want me too much to be rid of me just yet.”

The smug, self-satisfied grin on the vampire’s face reminded Buffy that although he was blinded at the moment, Spike was still in possession of supernatural senses that betrayed her arousal to him.

“Awfully sure of yourself,” she commented dryly. “For someone who’s tied up and at the mercy of his mortal enemy.”

“Not so much sure of *myself*,” Spike corrected in a quiet, even voice that was suddenly very serious, and infuriating to Buffy in its calmness and control, “as I am sure of *you*. Sure you won’t dish out anything you know I can’t handle.” He paused before adding slowly, emphatically, “I…*trust*…you, pet.”

He was silent for a long moment, allowing the words to sink in for her once more – hoping that this time she would get the idea through her head, accept it as truth.

And then, maybe he could work on convincing *himself*.

He went on with a poor attempt at a careless shrug, made very difficult by the awkward position of his arms under his body, nearly numb by now. “And anyway – ‘s not like this particular scenario really proves anything either way, love. I mean – it’s fun and all – but – trust you or not – if you decide you feel like hurting me, there’s not a lot I can do about it. ‘S not like I have a bloody choice at this point.”

“Oh, but you do,” Buffy countered immediately, with a dark, cunning note to her voice that sent an odd little quiver of mingled desire and apprehension through Spike at the sound. The calm, self-assured tone of her voice told him that she had expected him to bring up that point, and had been prepared for it.

“You *always* have a choice, Spike.”

He tensed without meaning to, when she took his arm and gently helped him to sit up on the bed, silently cursing the unconscious reaction of his body that would serve to reveal to her the fact that she was getting to him – a little.

All right. More than a little.

He felt himself being pulled off balance for a moment, the mattress behind him pressed down slightly as Buffy slowly climbed onto the bed, on her knees behind him.

Her hands held onto his arms for a moment, steadying them both on the bed, before they began to trail slowly up and down his arms, drawing him closer to her in a subtlely possessive way.

Spike did not mind a bit.

Unresisting, he leaned back against her, resting his head on her shoulder behind him.

“You had a choice to accept this challenge or not.”

Buffy went on, her voice soft, hushed and mesmerizing, as her hands continued down his arms to close momentarily around his bound wrists. She then brought them up to rest on his hips for a moment, her thumbs sliding slowly inward, just an inch or two down the line on each side, leading to his manhood – which was by now aching for her touch all over again.

“You had the choice to do as I said – or not – and you didn’t,” she reminded him in a voice that was an odd combination of gentle reproof, laced with a wickedly teasing note of menace.

“Which brings us to the whole ‘punishment’ thing,” she concluded, sliding her silky warm hands back up his hips, behind him, back to his wrists, resting against his back, at the very base of his spine.

She caught him off guard, eliciting a shocked little gasp of mingled pain and pleasure, when her hand left his wrist to come down sharply in a stinging slap to his bare backside, an unexpected touch that sent a rush of heated sensation straight through to his cock, which instantly and obviously hardened at the feeling.

Buffy let out a low, throaty giggle at his reaction, her fingertips lightly teasing over the spot she had just struck, in a mockery of soothing the sting, before she slid a single finger inward to trace slowly up the line of pale flesh leading to his tailbone and the base of his spine.

She relished the little shudder of shock and desire that went through the vampire at her provocatively bold, intensely intimate touch. A soft, strangled cry left his throat, as he pulled forward away from her touch – not because he did not want her to touch him, but simply in a reflexive reaction to the intensity of the sensation, of the feeling of vulnerability it brought on.

She immediately reacted, putting her other arm around his waist, jerking him back into close contact with her in a dominating, aggressive gesture that served to increase his arousal – but also to birth a cold knot of apprehension in the pit of his stomach, as he began to wonder, not for the first time…

*Just how far is she actually willing to *take* this little game?*

“You chose to agree to this, Spike,” she reminded him a soft, dangerously calm voice that made him wonder if she had somehow guessed his thoughts. “You chose to put yourself in my hands – at my mercy. And now,” she went on, trailing her fingertips slowly up his spine, intensifying the tingling sensation created by her words, “I can do – whatever…I… want…”

As she finished speaking, her slowly progressing hand, in a sudden motion both exciting and frightening, fastened high around his throat -- not too tightly, but firmly enough to dispel any notion he might have had of his ability to break her grip if necessary – pressing his head back against her shoulder and exposing his neck to her in an unmistakable position of vulnerability.

Which she, ironically, used only to caress his throat with soft, feather-light kisses -- for now, anyway.

Anyone walking in on the scene would have thought that *she* was the vampire, and he was her helpless victim, about to be consumed by her.

Which was only half untrue.

*Yep. You’ve got yourself into it, this time, mate. She’s right. Your bleedin’ unlife’s in her hands.*

Again echoing the thoughts in his head, Buffy whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his cool yet somehow fevered skin, “Don’t you wish you’d given this a little more thought before you decided to place your total trust in me? I *am* the Slayer, Spike. It’s in my very nature to destroy you…and I *can*…” Her voice lowered even further, mesmerizing, terrifying, utterly hypnotic, as her arm around his waist slid down the front of his body, her hand tracing lightly, torturously up the length of his throbbing erection.

Instinctively he bucked up against her hand – and he was not sure if his own reaction was one of impending panic, an attempt to escape her -- or desperate desire, seeking deeper contact than the feather-light, teasing touches she was allowing him at the moment.

He was utterly consumed with both.

The Slayer’s awesome power was demonstrated in her reaction, as she closed her hand firmly around the base of his erection, both that hand and the one at his throat yanking him warningly nearer to her – holding him in an unbreakable, yet painless grip of iron – silently making her point very clear.

If she did not want him to move – he wasn’t going anywhere.

His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

*Buffy wouldn’t really hurt me – wouldn’t take advantage of this – nothing to be…*

*Bloody soddin’ hell, mate, are you daft? Of *course* she’d take advantage of this situation! There’s *everything* to be scared of, she’s got you right where she bloody wants you!*

*No! I do trust her! I do! She wouldn’t!...would she?*

*You are So. *Beyond*. Buggered.*

“*Whatever* I want, Spike,” Buffy reiterated in a low, lustful voice of desire, and her racing pulse, the potent, musky scent of her arousal, told him just how exciting the thought was to her. “I could make you do *anything*.”

She just held him against her like that for a moment longer, her hands on his body and throat firm and restricting, reinforcing the message of her words: *she* was in control. And then, slowly, she eased her grip, releasing him.

He did not want her to see how she had managed to disconcert him – how uneasy he *still* was – so he did not move away from her. He remained as he was, his head relaxed back on her shoulder, not moving – silent.

That was the biggest clue to the Slayer that her little act had made quite an impression on the master vampire.

*He *doesn’t* trust me,* she thought. *I knew it! He really thought I might hurt him!*

Somehow, instead of triumph – all she felt was a cold, bereft feeling of loss.

*But if I call him on it,* she went on in her mind, trying to push back the painful feelings and focus on her goal, *he’ll just deny it. Stupid vampire! No rapid breathing or sweaty palms or any solid evidence to call him on to give away the fact that he was freakin’ scared out of his mind. I’ve got to make him admit it somehow…*

But despite the lack of physical evidence as to his rising apprehension, his lack of trust – she knew that he was too unsure of her motives by this point to continue to remain under her power – if he was given the choice to refuse.

And he was about to be given just that.

“I told you I was gonna punish you, Spike,” she repeated softly, her hands returning to the handcuffs locked around his wrists. “And I could. I could do anything I wanted right now, whether you like it or not.”

She paused, and he nodded silently, his unnecessary breath coming in soft but ragged gasps, revealing emotion that she suddenly wished she could read in his concealed eyes.

She surprised him completely when she whispered a Latin word – and the handcuffs snapped open.

“But I won’t.”

He did not move for a moment, stunned and still, as he heard the soft rattle as the handcuffs dropped onto the bed. Suddenly, he very much wanted to see her face, to attempt to read the motivations for her strange actions in her eyes, which were much more expressive than she often wished them to be.

Automatically, without conscious thought, his hands rose toward the blindfold.

Gently, she caught his wrists, stopping his hands without pulling them back.

“Now, you really don’t wanna forfeit *that* easy, do you?” Buffy asked, the lighter, teasing note back in her voice.

No. He didn’t.

And he could tell, by the tone of her voice – the Slayer’s front was back in place. If he took off the blindfold now, there would be nothing to see. Her mask was back on.

“No, I’m sure you’ve got a much more interesting method designed of making me forfeit – don’t you, pet?” he replied slowly, his voice low and serious, but his mouth turned up in just the hint of a knowing smile.

“Like I said,” Buffy replied, and he could hear the hint of frustration in her voice that she was trying to suppress. “I’m not going to make you do anything.”

She paused, before going on softly, “It’s up to you. How much do you trust me?”

When she did not say anything else for a moment, Spike admitted quietly, “Not quite sure I follow you, pet.”

“I already told you. I’m going to punish you. But then – that could mean many different things,” Buffy explained quietly, and he could hear the sly smile in her voice. “The question is – what do you think *my* definition of punishment is – and do you think you can handle it?”

He was silent, just trying to understand what she was getting at.

He heard her voice, nearer again, very close behind him, as she added in a near whisper, “Because if you don’t…if you think I’d take it farther than you want to go…if you think I’d hurt you…you can walk out that door right now. I won’t stop you. It’s just a game, after all. I’m not gonna blame you if you wanna stop playing.”

Spike’s head tilted slightly in an unspoken question, as he waited for the catch.

“On the other hand,” she went on in a soft, calculating voice, “if you *trust* me…”

Ah. There it was.

Spike did not need to hear anymore. Without saying a word in response, or waiting for any further explanation, he placed his hands on the mattress, feeling along it until he found the handcuffs she had discarded – clearly not having expected to be using them anymore – and, holding them, moved carefully away from her, to the head of the bed.

She watched in confusion as he felt the headboard, confirming that he was where he meant to be, then quietly lay down on his back, locking his own hands over his head around one of the slats of the headboard.

The complete silence that met his actions told him that he had stunned Buffy speechless.

Well – for all of a good five seconds.

“Spike – w-what…?” The slightly flustered sound of her voice made him feel a slightly vindictive sense of satisfaction – and pride. Even handcuffed and in quite possibly the most vulnerable position of his entire life – he still had the power to effect her in ways she could not understand.

“I’ve told you already. But I’ll keep telling you – and showing you – until you get it, love…” Spike began softly.

“You trust me…” Buffy finished for him, an oddly sad, desolate note to her whispered voice.

“I *love* you,” he corrected her, a quiet intensity in his voice. “I love you, Buffy. And I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you. And no – I don’t think that you’re going to hurt me – any more than I like, anyway,” he added with a self-deprecating little smirk. “I *do* trust you. And if this is what it takes to prove it to you, then – so bloody well be it.”

Buffy was silent for a very long moment. Finally, she spoke, in a whisper so soft that a human could not have made it out.

“What if you’re wrong?”

Spike replied immediately, without hesitation, “I’m not.”

There was a long moment of silence before the Slayer spoke again, in a soft whisper of resolve, and an unreadable tumult of confused emotion.

“We’ll see.”


	11. Chapter 11

Spike waited in silence, lying there on the bed on his back, his hands locked above his head to the headboard. He knew he had surprised her with his actions, thrown her off her game a bit with the unexpected display of trust – and given himself a decided advantage in the situation, if only for a moment.

The next move was undeniably Buffy’s.

But only silence met his actions.

After a moment, he could hear the soft rustling sound of Buffy moving about the room, though she did not say a word. He heard a drawer open now and again, the soft shifting thumping sounds of objects being picked up and set down.

But still, the Slayer did not say a word.

“So,” he began, a bit cautiously, though his tone was teasing. The silence was getting to him, and he wanted to try to lighten the mood a bit. “Just how bad have I…”

His words were cut off in an instant, as the Slayer suddenly made her presence known, very near to him at the head of the bed, with her hand pressed forcefully over his mouth, holding his head back hard against the pillow beneath it and effectively silencing him for the moment.

The feeling of utter helplessness was alarming – and exciting.

Her voice near his ear spoke in a low, hushed warning. “Too bad to be allowed to open that smart mouth of yours,” she informed him, removing her hand from his mouth to trace the line of his jaw with the backs of her fingertips, as she went on in a voice that was more playful, less threatening – but still unmistakably sincere, “You keep quiet unless I tell you otherwise – or I’ll just have to punish you more.”

Spike relished the little shiver of arousal and fear that went down his spine at the words. He considered for a moment, before coming to a decision. The Slayer wanted so badly to make him believe that she could really hurt him? To prove that he did not trust her?

Why not call her bluff?

“Well, what if I *want* to be punished?” he countered cheekily, his tongue darting out between his teeth momentarily in a gesture of mockery and suggestive intent that never failed to get a reaction out of her, whether good or bad.

The Slayer did not miss a beat, as he suddenly felt her sharp fingernails close a bit too tightly around his right nipple, and he gasped in pleasurable pain as she pinched him sharply.

“Then I guess you’re on the right track – aren’t you, Baby?” she replied, and he could hear the smirk in her voice, as she twisted slightly, drawing a reluctant groan from the vampire’s throat.

The sound turned into a soft whimper of protest when she released him, and he twisted against the bonds that held him, his body arching upward toward her hand that had abandoned him – but he did not say a word.

It was quite possible that he was not actually capable of speech at the moment.

He heard the soft sound of Buffy’s footsteps, moving away from the bed, and then back again, though she did not say another word for a few moments.

“Buffy,” he said in a breathless, petulant voice bordering on a whine. “I’ve been a lot worse than that, pet…need lots more punishing, I swear…”

There it was again, that low, dark little laugh in her throat, as he heard her nearing him, heard the soft thud of something heavy being set down on the small nightstand beside the bed, followed by several smaller somethings – and then, a new sound – different in this setting, but recognizable clearly enough to send a little chill of apprehension down his spine.

The soft scratch and hiss of a match being struck.

“Of course you do,” Buffy agreed, her voice soft, mild, conciliatory – and suddenly a bit frightening. “I completely agree. Don’t worry, Baby. I haven’t even started yet.”

He swallowed reflexively as he heard her blow out a soft breath, the quiet little *whoosh* as the flame she had struck went out, and the acrid, woody smell of the burnt match filled the air around him. A small tremor of mingled relief and apprehension went through him. She had blown out the match she had struck…

…but why had she struck it in the first place?

“W-what are you doing, pet?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm, light – but unable to keep a slight waver from it as he felt the mattress sink slightly beside him.

In the next moment, he felt the pressure of her weight across his stomach, as the Slayer straddled him, the soft, slightly rough folds of her skirt pressed between her body and his, the silky feel of her thighs on either side of him driving him mad with renewed desire, that was nevertheless given quite the competition for control by his rising apprehension.

“Practicing,” she replied cryptically, her tone light and unconcerned.

She leaned forward across him, reaching for something on the nightstand beside his head, and he could not help but tense slightly at the increased nearness, and the anticipation, not knowing what it was she was reaching for. Instinctively, unconsciously, his hands pulled against the handcuffs that bound him, his breath accelerating just slightly.

He cursed his weakness when the Slayer went still above him, still leaning forward so that her face was near his.

“Want me to let you up?” Her voice was gentle, understanding, without a trace of mockery or derision. She was sincerely asking.

Somehow – that made his decision easy.

He shook his head, drawing in a slightly shaky breath. “No,” he whispered. “No, love…I’m fine…”

Her tone changed, light, wickedly playful, as she smirked, “Okay…let’s see if we can change that!”

Her hands apparently found what they were reaching for on the nightstand, because he heard soft sounds of contact as she did something, though he had no idea what, and then she leaned back again, straddling him low over his hips, her knees on the bed on either side of him. The heady scent of her arousal carried easily to him in this position, and he felt his erection swelling behind her, pressing up against her backside.

He could hear her moving slightly, and her tone was a bit distracted as she focused on whatever it was she held in her hands, as she mused in a thoughtful tone, “Someone once told me…in no uncertain terms…that I didn’t have the first idea about…certain types of foreplay…”

Spike let out a surprised yelp of pain and shock as a sudden drop of searing moisture fell against his bare skin, just a bit to the left of his navel.

“…candles, for example…” the Slayer explained coyly. As she spoke, she reached down and idly scraped the already hardened bit of wax from his skin with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “Hmm…pretty,” she remarked with a quiet glee that was both child-like and chilling.

As soon as she spoke, he recognized the sounds he had heard, the rhythm of her motions a few moments before. He had played these sorts of games enough to know that the heavy object was mostly likely a large candle, which she had lit with the match, and had used to light one of several smaller ones – which she was now casually allowing to drip all over his exposed, sensitive skin.

“Bloody hell!” Spike gasped, his voice a bit ragged. “Slayer – y-you gotta remember, love…no body heat, here…it’s a bit more…extreme, for me, than it’d be for you, pet…so…so you might wanna -- *bloody hell*!”

He let out a moan as another drip of hot wax landed on his chest, near his right nipple. Against his room temperature skin, it cooled and hardened rather quickly, but the heat was intense, sending a searing jolt of pain through him that oddly translated to pleasure, increasing his desire for her.

Buffy leaned forward slightly, her hand fisting in his hair and jerking him closer to her for a moment as she replied in a wicked voice of amusement, “I know – hence the word ‘punishment’, Spike…which you’re only earning more of every time you open that sexy mouth of yours, Baby…”

She released him, straightening back up again, giggling quietly in surprise when she felt his burgeoning erection against her backside.

The hand that had gripped his hair reached behind her to swirl a torturously light finger around the head of it slowly.

“Somebody wants to play…gonna have to wait his turn, though…”

The suggestion in her words was both thrilling and terrifying to him. Surely she wouldn’t actually…*gah!*

Another searing drop of wax landed on the pale skin of his ribcage, and he released a pleading moan at the sensation, his back arching as he strained uselessly against the handcuffs, and felt his need for her increasing, wondering *very* distractedly if she could feel the increased pressure against her bum.

Her musical little laugh of amusement told him that she could.

He was never going to get out of this if his over-eager member didn’t stop nudging its encouragement of her actions against her rear.

“Okay, okay,” she teasingly relented, reaching behind her to gift his manhood with a single, infuriatingly gentle upward stroke. “Fine. Impatient,” she muttered good-naturedly as she got up off the bed.

*Bloody buggering hell.*

“Buffy,” Spike began in a desperate, trembling voice. “wait…don’t…”

“Don’t?” she echoed, stopping and turning slightly to face him. Her pointed tone was very clear.

He swallowed reflexively, desperately wanting to give in to her ploy. The thought of what she appeared poised to do was pretty soddin’ scary…and yet…if he refused…he would lose her challenge.

No bleedin’ way.

“N-no,” he recanted quickly, shaking his head. “Not ‘don’t’…I just meant…” He hesitated, but was unable to hold back the anxious whisper, “…be careful, love…”

“Whatsa matter, Baby?” Buffy teased him as she moved around to the foot of the bed and climbed up slowly between his legs, spreading them further apart as she did, increasing his sensation of helplessness, the utter lack of any control over the situation.

“Dontcha trust me?”

“Either I do or I’ve got a death wish, pet…” he muttered through clenched teeth, his body already tensing in anticipation, rueing the blindfold that prevented him from having a bloody clue what to expect from her next.

“You just might,” she shot back with a slightly warning tone. “You’re still talking.”

He bit his lip with a little grimace, reminding himself to just shut the bloody hell up.

A moment later, he frowned in confused apprehension, at the feeling of a round, heavy weight placed low on his hard, flat stomach. His stomach did an odd little flip a moment later when he realized that it was the weight of the large, round pillar candle, now rested on his stomach, as her own personal table.

“Knew those perfect abs were good for more than just looking dead sexy,” Buffy murmured in a low, playfully seductive voice, taking advantage of having both of her hands free, to run them slowly, leisurely up his thighs to the juncture where his legs met his groin, easing his legs slightly further apart.

He felt the candle on his stomach shift slightly with the movement, and could not hold back the gasp of fear that rose in his throat.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy said casually, as an afterthought. “Try not to move. Might not feel too good if you manage to spill hot wax, straight from the candle, all over yourself. Or tip the candle over and set my bed on fire. That could be bad.”

She paused before adding with a smirk, “I *like* these sheets.”

“Buffy,” he whispered, pulling slightly against the handcuffs, as much as he dared, struggling against the impulse to yield to her, to tell her he’d had enough, and ask her to let him up. “Buffy…”

“Yes?” she asked softly, expectantly – an almost hopeful note in her voice.

And suddenly – he knew that he could not give in. Not now. The tone of her voice had unconsciously given her away.

She did not want to hurt him – not really. With any luck, he guessed, she was probably nearly as close to breaking as he was.

“Nothing, pet,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly, trying his best to keep perfectly still.

“Hmm,” she mused. “Pretty expensive nothing.”

He did not have time to wonder what she meant, before he felt a searing, unusually large drop of wax land on the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. He jumped, without meaning to, cringing in expectation of greater pain when the wax from the candle on his stomach spilled from his movement.

But it did not – and he let out a shaky breath of relief, struggling to still the tremor that went through his body of mingled fear and relief.

What he could not know, was that the candle resting upon him, the Slayer’s silent warning to stillness, was the type that burned down in the center, while leaving the outer edge intact, round and broad, and burned down much too far to allow any wax to actually spill, unless he *completely* lost it and tipped the whole thing over entirely.

He also missed Buffy’s little gasp and tensing at his movement, and the way her eyes – and hand – shot to the candle instantly, wanting to be sure it was steady and did not actually hurt him.

What he *did* hear was the soft little hiss of her sucking her teeth, followed by a little clucking sound of disapproval, as she remarked in a casually observant tone, “That was close…you might wanna be more careful, Sweetie.”

Spike bit his lip and forced himself not to respond. At this point, it was probably best just to do his best to do as she said and get through it as quickly as possible, with as little actual damage as possible.

Which, of course, really depended on how much damage the Slayer intended to do.

One soft hand, not really seeming terribly damage-bound at the moment, began tracing a slow circle around the base of his erection, slowly working her way upward toward its weeping head, ending with a light but firm pinch about an inch from the tip, that elicited a low moan of pleasure from the vampire’s lips.

“Wow. You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” she remarked in a taunting tone, trailing her finger back down, retracing the spiraling path it had taken up his member. “Getting off on being my helpless sex toy?” she went on, her voice low and suggestive, and entirely too stimulating to his already over-aroused member.

His cock jumped slightly when she employed her nail an inch from the base of his erection, as she continued, “All tied up and exposed for me to have my way with – all laid out for me like Christmas morning…”

When her hand left him, he let out a soft, strangled cry, aching for her touch, unspeakably aroused by her words, and the lustful sound of her voice.

“Just enough helplessness and pain and degradation to get you off, huh, Baby?” she smirked, a harder, bitter edge to her voice, nudging her knees in closer to his erection, spreading his legs slightly further to emphasize her point.

Her voice lowered to a whisper as she applied another generous dose of the wax, an inch or so above the base of his erection. “Sick little slut,” she said in a voice of mocking accusation. “Only one thing you’re good for – but we already knew that, didn’t we?”

Buffy herself didn’t even know where she was getting this stuff. It seemed to fit with the game she was playing – and apparently, was having quite an effect on her bound, helpless vampire.

She smirked when his cock twitched in reaction to either the heat of the wax, or her words, pleased in spite of herself that she was able to get such a reaction from him. There was plenty of time before the night was through to get him to back down.

She smiled as she looked up to his face, his mouth open slightly and gasping for breath, his body trembling slightly, revealing his arousal. For now, there was no harm in enjoying the power she had over him, to make him want her, even when she was mercilessly tormenting him, using cruel, biting words that should have hurt, but apparently….

…did.

Her eyes widened with dismay, as she noticed the damp spot, barely visible, on the surface of the blindfold around his eyes. He was probably counting on the blindfold to conceal his emotional reaction – but it had failed him.

Tears.

*God.*

She had brought him to tears.

Buffy froze completely, the world around her seeming to stop, as a cold, sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

God, what had she done?

*You’ve been using him for months,* she reminded herself bitterly. *What’s so much worse about saying it out loud?*

She was suddenly stricken with the truth of the thought she had not meant to think – and the reason for the tears Spike thought she could not see. His body reacted instinctively to her expert attentions – but her words had gone too far, and shattered his heart.

Again.

*Okay – I think you’ve had enough…*

Her mind composed the mocking words to end this little scene – because Buffy herself *certainly* had had enough – but she could not make herself speak them, could not make herself carry on the act. Not right now.

Instead, she wordlessly rose up on her knees, removing the large candle from his stomach and shoving the others to the floor, as she moved from her position between the vampire’s legs, rising up so that her center hovered above him.

*Do it…use him again…hard and rough and reminding him that everything you just said is true,* she told herself, fighting to shut out the powerful emotions threatening to engulf her. *It will crush him…and he’ll walk out of here, and never come back. He won’t be able to deny what you’ve been doing to him anymore, and he’ll be done with you.*

But somehow – she just couldn’t do it.

She did descend onto him, lowering her body to take him into her – but it was slow, and gentle, and as affectionate as she ever allowed herself to be with him, as she lay herself down on top of him, her hands, her mouth, her very being treating him with a rare tenderness, bestowing warm, gentle kisses and soft caresses that he longed for – but rarely received.

He quickly, and with unusual silence, reached the climax she had driven him so ruthlessly toward, though she did not, and she rolled to her side beside him, her arm wrapped gently around his chest, lying there quietly, neither speaking a word, the soft sound of Spike’s ragged breathing the only sound that broke the stillness.

Buffy herself felt rather breathless.

*What are you doing, Buffy?* she asked herself. *This is not what you’re supposed to do…*

But somehow, at the moment, she could do nothing else.

When Spike could finally find words again, his voice came out hoarse and thick with emotion, though he was trying for casual. Buffy was not surprised to see that the blindfold was more soaked with tears now than it had been before.

“So, no more punishment, then? I’ve learned my lesson?” He was asking her, not telling her, with a desolate sorrow in his voice that sent a bitter ache through her heart.

*For now,* the smirking, slightly threatening response echoed in her head – what the game would have dictated that she say.

But she could not say those words.

In fact, at the moment, she couldn’t say any words at all. So she passed on words entirely, lowering her mouth to cover his in a slow, tender kiss that was gentle and reassuring and affectionate and all the things she had sworn that she could never be to Spike again.

When she drew away from him to breathe, lowering her forehead to rest against his as she caught her breath, she barely heard the soft, yearning words he spoke – words he had said to her a thousand times, yet this time carrying an ache of loneliness, of pleading, that tore at her emotions with an intensity she thought would consume her utterly.

“I love you, Buffy…I love you…”

*I lo…*No!*…I don’t…I can’t…not him…not…not again…I just…*

Her tumult of confusing thoughts gave way in that moment to a single central fact.

*God, I can’t do this! I can’t!*

“B-Buffy?”

There was a soft, vulnerable question in his voice, and her heart was struck again with remorse as she realized how near she had come to breaking him, not with fear of physical harm – but with words of simple cruelty. She had no excuse, no response, and yet no reassurance to offer him. She had none to offer even to herself. So she did the only thing she could think to do in that moment.

She lowered her mouth to his and kissed him again, as one anguished thought filled her mind.

*Oh, God…what am I going to do?*


	12. Chapter 12

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, Spike.”

The soft, tender words left Buffy’s lips before she could stop them. And then, she realized that she didn’t *want* to stop them. Her hand rose from Spike’s chest to gently caress his cheek, and her heart swelled, aching with emotion, when he leaned into the tender touch with an obvious thirst for her affection.

He did not say anything, did not attempt to deny that she had hurt him, as she had half-expected – or tell her that it was all right, as she had not dared to hope. He just nodded slightly, and swallowed hard, and she could tell that he was trying very hard to control the flood of painful emotions she had caused him.

She could not remember the last time she had felt so guilty.

“Spike,” she whispered, raising up on one arm, her hand moving to the blindfold that covered his eyes. “Baby…” This time there was no malice, no mockery or ulterior motives, in her use of the tender endearment.

She was surprised when he flinched away from her hand, jerking against the restraints that bound him in an apparent effort to get away. Buffy drew her hand back immediately, aghast at the thought that she had somehow managed to frighten him that badly.

“Please don’t, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice low and hoarse with tears. “Please – leave it.”

She froze when she realized that his reaction was not out of fear that she was going to hurt him – but out of fear that she was going to remove the blindfold – and therefore reveal how much she had hurt him already. That tiny scrap of fabric was the only thing that was even partially shielding his hurt and vulnerability from the Slayer’s eyes.

Tears welled up in Buffy’s own eyes as she gently put her arms around him again, laying her head on his chest and whispering, “I’m so sorry, Spike. God, I’m so sorry!”

He did not say a word for a very long moment. Then, he lowered his head to softly, almost reverently place a tender kiss amidst the tangled riot of her blonde hair.

“Don’t cry, love,” he murmured soothingly. “Not worth it.”

She slowly raised her head, staring at him in disbelief. *He* was trying to comfort and reassure *her* -- after the things she had said to him! And – “not worth it”? She did not know if he meant that her apology, or his feelings, were not worth her tears – until she looked at his face.

The sad, self-deprecating little smile he gave her was answer enough.

*Yes, you *are* worth it,* she wanted to tell him, wanted to throw away the handcuffs and the blindfold and just hold him and tell him everything she had wanted to tell him, before the ill-fated kiss she had initiated that had destroyed their fledgling friendship. All about her confusion, her fears, the loss and hurt of being ripped out of heaven – the painful emotions that kept her constantly hiding, defensive, and terrified of allowing herself to love anyone again – the resentment she held toward him, for loving her, when she herself knew that she was so utterly unworthy of it.

But she did not say any of that.

She raised her hand again to gently brush through his sweat-dampened, disheveled blonde curls. “Why do you let me do it? Why do you let me do this to you, Spike?” she asked softly, an aching sorrow in her voice.

A soft, sarcastic smile came over the vampire’s lips as he replied in a quiet, teasing tone, “Not much ‘let’ about it, pet. I’m handcuffed to your soddin’ bed!” His tone was as light as he could manage, and she knew that he was trying to ease the situation back to more comfortable territory.

Trying to let her off easy for her cruel offense.

She reached for the handcuffs around his wrists, ready to let him loose and end this cruel charade she had started. She had hurt him more than enough for one eternity already, she thought bitterly.

“No,” he objected sharply, pulling away from her as much as he could, and she froze.

“What?”

“Leave them, Buffy,” he insisted softly. “Until you’re convinced. You set out to prove something tonight – well, so did I! And I don’t want the bloody hell out of this until you’re bloody well certain.” He paused before adding in a soft, sure voice full of conviction and emotion. “I love you. And I trust you, too, pet. You *have* to see it.”

Buffy stared at him, absolutely stunned by his words.

Even now – he still claimed to trust her?

“H-how?” she asked in a broken whisper. “How *can* you? After…everything…”

Spike was silent for a long, weighted moment, and Buffy knew that he was carefully considering how best to respond to her question.

Finally, he took a deep breath and replied quietly, “Because I know you love me, Buffy. I know it. Like I know that I need blood to survive, or that Harris will always be a bloody wanker.” He smirked disarmingly as he gave a slight shrug and declared, “Bloody law of nature’s what it is.”

His expression became serious as he went on, “You’d die without air. The sun rises in the east. I’ll dust the moment anything ever happens to you again…” He paused, before stating the last “law of nature according to Spike” in a low, intense voice, “And you love me. You’re just afraid to let yourself see it.”

His honest, simple words struck her with breathtaking force, as a part of her had no choice but to acknowledge the truth of what he had said. She was not sure about love – but she knew that she cared much more than she wanted to admit for the frighteningly perceptive, incredibly sensitive, absolutely gorgeous blonde vampire.

She knew that it was wrong – knew that allowing herself to love another vampire could only lead to heartbreak and devastation of the worst kind – but could not seem to quell the feelings that overwhelmed her, the incredible desire and affection that drew her back to Spike’s door, again and again, no matter how many times she told herself that it could never, *ever* happen again.

Yes, a part of her had to admit that Spike was right.

And that admission put the rest of her immediately on the defensive, her guilt and heartache hiding behind a shield of anger and indignance.

“You sure about that?” she snapped, pulling away from him and sitting up on the bed beside him. “You so sure that I’m just afraid to admit it? What if there’s just nothing to admit?”

“Then I wouldn’t be here,” Spike answered immediately. “I’d be dust long ago.”

There was a simple but profound truth to his words. She knew it was true.

Still, she denied it.

“Maybe I’m just being generous,” she suggested, though it was obvious even to her own ears that she was grasping at straws. “After all – you’re helpless.”

“Not anymore,” he reminded her, his voice taking on a slightly sharper edge. He was determined to make her face the truth this time. “Remember? I could kill you anytime I wanted to now. And yet – I’m still undead.”

“You could try,” Buffy corrected him in an angrily trembling voice, rising slightly with her defenses. “But you couldn’t kill me – and you can’t hurt anyone else…”

“But there’s still a lot of things I *could* do, Buffy,” he reminded her. “I’ve been master of this town before – and I could do it again. There’s dozens of vamps out there just looking for someone strong enough to tell ‘em what to do, who’d be more than willing to do whatever I bloody tell them to. I could have someone else do you and yours in if I wanted to…”

“Maybe before,” Buffy scoffed derisively, standing up. Even blindfolded, the vampire saw far too much. She needed a little distance; she needed *not* to be touching him. “Now,” she snapped, aware as she spoke that the words were cruel, but too desperate to stop, “you’re nothing but a pathetic joke. Every vamp in this town knows that you can’t even feed anymore! That chip in your head…”

“Could stop working,” he interrupted, his own anger rising at her deliberately hurtful words. “Could wear out and leave me free, and you none the wiser. Or I could find a way to get it out completely…”

“God, Spike, are you *trying* to get yourself staked?” Buffy demanded, a threatening note creeping into her voice. “Are you just trying to convince me to stake you, because you’re doing a hell of a job!”

“Couldn’t convince you if I tried, pet,” Spike shot back, unable to keep the note of triumph from his voice. “That’s my bloody point! You just can’t do it!”

The Slayer in the girl could not let the master vampire’s challenge pass unanswered. She stalked back to the side of the bed, reaching under the pillow beneath Spike’s head, for the stake that she always kept there.

“You sure about that, Spikey?” she sneered. “Let’s find out!”

She raised the stake and brought it down swiftly toward the vampire’s exposed, vulnerable chest.

No vampire could have missed the sound as the weapon sliced through the air with a deadly rush of speed. She knew he would flinch, cry out, in some way betray a genuine fear that she might actually stake him. But Spike did not move, even when the tip of the stake came into contact with his chest, inches above his heart, pressing into his skin without quite breaking it.

He did not flinch – did not even make a sound.

In fact – he was smiling.

“You can’t do it,” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “You can’t do it, Buffy. And there’s a reason why.”

Buffy froze, staring at the weapon in her clenched fist, the slight indentation its tip made in the pale, flawless flesh – and a sense of horror began to steal over her. She tossed the stake aside forcefully, sending it clattering loudly into her dresser, as she took a backward step away from the vampire on the bed, shaking her head in denial.

*God – what did I almost do…?* she wondered, horrified.

“Buffy?” Spike’s voice was uncertain, concerned. “You okay, love?”

*And why couldn’t I do it?* was Buffy’s next thought, as she continued slowly backing away from the vampire, trying to process what was happening here, how her carefully thought out plan had spun so quickly and completely out of her control.

*I can’t do this! I can’t lose him! But – I shouldn’t need him! This is wrong! He’s evil! I’m the Slayer! I should be able to stake him…but…*why*? He hasn’t hurt anyone in so long – he loves me – he wouldn’t – oh, *God*, I almost…*

The breakdown that overcame the Slayer in that moment was in no way soft or gradual. It came upon her all at once, leaving her sobbing, great, wracking sobs that stole her breath and left her choking, gasping – stole her strength and left her collapsed, half-sitting, half-kneeling on the floor, her fist pressed hard against her mouth as she fought uselessly to suppress the sound – the unmistakable sign of her weakness.

“*Buffy*!”

She had no idea how Spike had gotten free of the handcuffs, but an instant later, she was enveloped in cool, strong arms that pressed her closer, holding her together so that she could allow herself to fall apart in his embrace.

“Shhh,” he whispered soothingly. “Buffy – Buffy, love – what is it? What’s the matter, pet?”

Buffy could not yet speak, too overwhelmed by the intensity of her emotions – so she just clung to him and cried. She knew she should be pushing him away – should not be allowing herself to become so vulnerable in his eyes.

At the moment, it did not matter to her. She needed him – and through the pain of her emotions that shook her so completely, an accusing thought surfaced.

*Yeah – that’s it, Buffy. *You* need him. So just use him again, when you know it can never be anything more than that. You know you don’t love him. You tried to break his heart and make him leave you – couldn’t even do *that* right! So you’ll just use him again until you’re over it for the moment, and then push him away until the next time you’re ready to use him again!*

“Buffy? Pet?”

She finally forced herself to look up, into wide sapphire eyes full of concern and affection, as he held her gently by the arms and asked again, “What’s all this, pet? You all right?”

She forced a tremulous smile and nodded hesitantly. “I just – wow – I could have – I almost – yeah. I’m fine.”

Spike laughed at the sardonic tone of her last few words, but the sound was not harsh or mocking, rather soft and full of sympathy and understanding.

“I almost staked you, Spike,” Buffy stated dubiously, searching his eyes. How could he be so concerned with her, and so unconcerned with the fact that she had nearly taken his life only moments before?

He just shrugged calmly. “No, you didn’t, love. Didn’t even come close.” He paused, smiling as she disentangled herself slowly from his embrace and climbed to her feet. He stayed on the floor for a moment longer, looking up at her with a smile that was brilliant and breathtaking, if a bit sad, and guileless blue eyes full of undisguised adoration.

“I knew you couldn’t do it,” he said softly.

Buffy just stared at him for a long moment, amazed. In spite of herself, she reached down to touch his cheek, a smile of reluctant affection coming over her face, as he gazed up at her, unflinching, unbothered by the fact that he was on the floor at her feet, utterly naked and vulnerable, moments after she had just tried to stake him.

“Is there *anything* that scares you?” she asked softly, unable to keep the admiration from her voice.

To her surprise, he looked away suddenly, his smile faltering, as he moved away from her hand and climbed to his feet as well. Seeing his discomfort, Buffy found herself attempting to steer the conversation toward safer territory, though her curiosity was piqued by his unexpected reaction to the rhetorical question.

“How’d you get out of my magic handcuffs, anyway?” she asked him mildly, as she made her way to the bed and sat down on the side, her fingers running idly over the metal he had cast aside in coming to her rescue. “I’m gonna have to ask Will for a refund on this gift – get my non-existent money back.”

“No,” Spike shrugged, his back turned to her as he faced her dresser, apparently finding her collection of various knick-knacks incredibly interesting. “They work just like you said they did.” He turned slightly for a moment to give her a sly smirk. “Only the one who *put them on* can take them off.”

Her eyes widened as she remembered how he had taken the handcuffs and chained himself to her bed. A slow smile of disbelief and amusement slid over her face as she looked up at him through new eyes, impressed. His back was turned to her again, and he was absently toying with random items on her dresser – still apparently oblivious to the fact that he was doing it completely naked.

Buffy, on the other hand – was anything but oblivious.

She allowed her eyes to slowly savor the sight of Spike’s perfectly formed, absolutely amazing body. She felt her lust for him building up inside her again; she had all but given up on her plan by this point.

Oh, she still intended to put an end to this disastrous affair, and quickly – and yet – he was simply so tempting, so irresistible to her.

How could she possibly let him go?

*You shouldn’t do this, Buffy…you need to break it off. Yeah, you’ve ruined the game. He’ll never believe you don’t care now – but you have to be strong. End it…end it…get over there and end it, now!*

She found that her feet were indeed carrying her across the room, gliding effortlessly toward Spike – but the rest of her body did not seem willing to comply with the other half of her mind’s command.

God, how she wanted him!

He was lost enough in his thoughts at the moment that he did not sense her approach, until she was directly behind him. He gasped in surprise as she put her arms around him, one sliding under his arm to wrap upward around his chest, pulling him back toward her, as the other moved around in front of him to gently squeeze his half-hardened member.

The common figurine he had been so intently studying crashed to the floor, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, as she began to slowly, firmly, pump his cock with her hand.

“Buffy!” he gasped, his hand falling to rest on her arm, encouraging her actions.

She smiled, relishing the knowledge of how responsive he always was to her touch, how eager and desirous he always was for her.

*Why should I have to give this up?* she wondered desperately. *He wants me – I want him – why should I…*

“Buffy!” Spike moaned, his other hand rising to clasp her hand against his chest, his thumb caressing a slow circle on her palm, as he thrust slowly into her hand, gasping softly, “Buffy – love you, Buffy, so much!”

*That’s why.*

A heavy weight of guilt settled over Buffy’s heart, as she realized anew her reasons for this night in the first place. She could continue these passionate nights with Spike, giving him her body while withholding everything else – and could little by little destroy him.

Because Spike loved her.

She tried to tell herself that he did not – but she knew that he did.

And she could not let herself love him.

She had to end it. No matter how hard it was, she *had* to. Tonight.

“Buffy – need you – I want you, Buffy, so bad…” Spike was still babbling out random words of need and adoration. “Love you, Buffy -- *God* -- feels so good…”

Buffy ran her hand one more time, slowly, sensually, down the length of his throbbing erection, harder than before, making him release a desperate, strangled cry of pleasure at the increased intensity of her touch.

And then – she removed her hand from him completely.

A soft, throaty whimper of protest was all that the vampire could manage, and instinctively his hand moved toward his aching cock.

Buffy’s hand caught his wrist, in one swift motion pulling it and his other wrist behind his back and holding them there.

“Now, Baby,” she said in a teasingly warning voice. “What did I tell you about touching yourself?”

She locked the handcuffs that she had retrieved from the bed around his wrists again, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the knowledge that this time, they would stay on until *she* was ready for them to come off.

She turned him around to face her, flashing him a wicked smile at the slightly bewildered look on his face, as she pushed him gently but firmly to his knees in front of her.

“You know,” she went on in a playful tone, eyes falsely wide and serious. “Some people say it makes you go blind.” She cocked an eyebrow at him suggestively, glancing toward the discarded scarf, where he had left it a few feet away. “Wouldn’t you rather touch *me*, anyway?”

She rested one hand gently on his shoulder, the other tangling firmly but not painfully in his hair to tilt his head back, as she slowly, suggestively, rotated her hips, inches in front of his face. She watched with a smile as he caught the scent of her arousal, and his eyes widened, and then became hazy with desire as he raised them to meet hers. Those incredibly blue eyes were wide and longing, his parted lips trembling with need and anticipation.

God, he was beautiful!

“Not to sound selfish, Sweetheart,” she pouted lightly, lowering her and from his hair to trace gently along the line of his full, luscious lips. “but I’m starting to feel a little neglected here.”

She knew she was starting to think like Anya, but it was the truth. If she was keeping score, he was up two to zero in the orgasm department.

“So what do you think, Baby?” she pressed gently, swiveling her hips toward him again as she let her hand fall from his mouth to rest over her throbbing, longer center, relishing the flash of lust in his eyes as he watched her every move.

“Wanna taste?”


	13. Chapter 13

Spike was no fool. He knew that she was trying to manipulate him.  
   
He may have been on the brink of losing all control and being driven to a point of mad desire where he simply didn’t care – but at least he bloody well *knew* it!  
   
He wanted so badly to give in to her. Buffy knew just how to touch him, just what to do to him to make him desperate for her; and now, faced with her obvious desire for him, there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to simply give in – to lose himself in her, and prove that he knew how to get her at *his* mercy, too – to make her moan and scream his name and beg for more.  
   
He could do it. He had, many times before, and in this helpless situation he was in, there was nothing he would have liked more than to prove to Buffy beyond all doubt that he still had the power to affect her in ways that no one else ever had, to make her feel things that no one else could. He knew he could do it – and he wanted to.

  
   
But – something was off.  
   
The Slayer’s agenda was becoming clearer to him with every flawed step of her little plan. She wanted for him to back down – to admit that he did not trust her – or perhaps to make him see that she had the will and ability to hurt him more than his love for her was willing to bear. She wanted him to run from her, so that she could stop running, and yet not have to face her fears.  
   
What the Slayer did not understand, but was becoming clearer to Spike with every moment, even in the midst of this overwhelming encounter, was that love and trust did *not* always have to go hand in hand, as Buffy thought – and that sometimes, love *did* hurt – terribly.  
   
But that did not mean it stopped.  
   
Buffy did not seem to understand that – but she would, before the night was through. Spike did not mean to let it end until she did.  
   
“Well, Spike?” Buffy murmured, moving closer to him, her fist tangling in his hair and tugging his head back slightly as she ran her other hand up her own thigh, pushing the thin, flowy skirt she was wearing up her leg as she did, in a tempting manner. “What do you want?”  
   
His swollen, aching member protested its current state of neglect, as her words, her inviting actions, stirred him to deeper desire. He had to hand it to her, the little chit knew exactly what she was doing.  
   
Fortunately, so did he.  
   
"I think the better question, pet,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and breathless with need,  as his penetrating sapphire eyes found hers, and held them with an arresting gaze, “is what do *you* want? Do you even know?”  
   
He felt a little thrill of satisfaction as he recognized the emotions that swept through her darkened eyes at his words – a startled fear at his perception – followed by a defensive anger – and then, just as quickly, her feelings seemed to be closed off to him, as she gave him a predatory smirk.  
   
“I think it’s pretty clear what I want,” she countered in a soft, dangerous voice. “And I’m thinking maybe you should give it to me, Spike -- *now*!”  
   
The commanding tone, made less convincing by the slight tremor of need, nearly broke Spike’s control right then. But he forced himself to stay strong for just a few minutes more. It was difficult to even think clearly, when faced with such a powerful temptation – but inspiration had struck, and he knew what he had to do, no matter how difficult it was.  
   
Spike looked the Slayer in the eyes with an impudent grin as he spoke calmly and certainly.  
   
“No.”  
   
The little double take that Buffy did at that made his smile widen, as her eyes grew large with shocked disbelief at the thought that Spike would ever refuse her.  
   
*Bloody hell. Have I really become that soddin’ pathetic?*  
   
“No?” Buffy echoed incredulously, her seductive movements stilled completely as she tried to process the word that she had rarely heard from the vampire’s lips – at least in recent months.  
   
His smile became a mocking smirk as he asked her lightly, “You *do* know what the word means, don’t you, Slayer?”  
   
He might have been imagining it, reading too much into her expression, but he thought he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes at the use of her title instead of her name, and the mocking tone of his voice.  
   
It took all his strength not to tell her he was sorry, not to back down.  
   
Buffy quickly recovered, however, donning her own smirk as she shot back, “Yeah. Just didn’t think you knew how to use it.”  
   
He knew that the hurt showed in his eyes, in the instant before he quickly looked away.  
   
*And we’re back to the whole ‘nothin’ but her soddin’ whore’ routine,* he thought bitterly. *Bollocks. I *am* really that pathetic.*  
   
The pain in his eyes had a softening effect on the Slayer, who was suddenly kneeling in front of him, her hand releasing his hair to touch his cheek gently and turn his face back toward her.  
   
He was surprised at the regret, the sadness, he saw in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, leaning in to follow her words with a slow, tender kiss.  
   
It was hardly enough.  
   
He was as unresponsive as she had ever seen him be to her, submitting to her kiss, but not actively returning it. She withdrew her mouth from his, slowly, a frown of concern forming on her face, as she took in the firm set of his jaw, the way he leaned slightly away from her, keeping his eyes averted – everything in his stance speaking of hurt and anger.  
   
Buffy froze, a cold feeling akin to dread building in her chest. Was this it? Had she finally succeeded in hurting him badly enough that he would walk away from her? It was what she had wanted – wasn’t it?  
   
Then why was the thought so terrifying to her?  
   
“Can you forgive me?” she whispered, unconsciously holding her breath in anticipation of his answer.  For a long, excruciating moment, he did not move, did not look up, as she waited for him to speak.  
   
When his eyes finally rose to meet hers, wide and honest and glistening with tears, her breath was stolen away from her again, as he whispered, shaking his head slowly, a sad, ironic, yet beautiful smile on his full, slightly trembling lips.  
   
“Buffy – Buffy, love – how can you even ask me?”  
   
The tone of his voice made his answer clear – so full of love and devotion, even after everything. Her chest ached with a deep sorrow as she thought about the exercise in torment and pain that had been her treatment of Spike over the past few months. He gave her absolutely everything he had to give, submitting his very life into her hands – and she gave him nothing but punishment and pain in return.  
   
She knew by now that her words could hurt him much worse than her fists ever could – so of course, that was what she dealt him. Harsh, demeaning comments designed to belittle him and crush his spirit.  
   
And yet he loved her.  
   
Was there *nothing* that he would not forgive her?  
   
As she gazed into those open, expressive blue eyes, unable to tear her own away, she knew that she could not abandon her plan, now more than ever. He loved her -- *really* loved her. And regardless of her feelings for him, her confused, mixed-up desires and dreams and longings for how it might be – she was irreversibly, hopelessly screwed up beyond any help.  
   
She would only ever end up hurting him.  
   
She had to break it off – had to *make* him move on, so that in time, he could find someone else, someone who would love him like he loved her, completely, holding nothing back, and without the crippling fear that always left her more confused and conflicted – and Spike broken and wounded.  
   
She did not know if she loved him, but she felt strongly that she did not love him *enough* -- couldn’t – if she always ended up hurting him so badly. But she knew that she *did* care enough to stop herself from using him, from hurting him, again.  
   
And she cared enough – or was selfish enough – to give them this one last night.  
   
She held his gaze for a moment longer, before leaning in for another kiss, her hand gently cupping the back of his head, caressing tenderly, where before she had been hard and forceful. This time, Spike responded to her kiss, with a desperation, a thirst that made her heart ache with the power of its intensity.  
   
When she finally broke the kiss to draw breath, she looked into his wide, stunned eyes, surely mirroring the expression in her own, as she whispered intently, earnestly, “What do *you* want, Spike? Please – let me – let me give you – what do you want?”  
   
Their faces were mere inches apart, and she could clearly see the surprise, the doubt and disbelief, in his startled eyes, in the moment before he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers, still breathing hard with the intensity of the moment as he gave her his soft, heartfelt response.  
   
“You, Buffy…just you.”  
   
She could not respond. There were no words. She swallowed back a sob, closing her eyes against the tears that rose there, as she raised her hands to gently cup his face, without lifting her head from his.  
   
*God, it’s too much…it’s too…I can’t…*  
   
“I love you, Buffy,” Spike went on, his voice quiet but trembling with passion and intensity. “You’re all I want, Buffy…just you…just…you and me…and no…no games…”  
   
He shook his head slowly, and she felt his tears fall onto her bare leg, pulled up under her. Her own tears slipped down her cheeks as she lowered her arms to gently wrap around him, and he struggled to go on.  
   
“No – no posturing and mind games and trying to out-brave each other…just…just you and me, and you…you…letting me love you.” His voice broke slightly over his last words, and as she pulled him closer to her instinctively, he lowered his head to her shoulder and let out a gasp that was almost a sob.  
   
“I – I don’t expect…I mean…” he fought to get the words out in a dangerously shaking voice. “I understand if you can’t…but…God, Buffy…why won’t you just let me *love* you?”  
   
Buffy felt her heart ripped out with the raw pain of his words, and just held him, allowing her own tears to roll down her cheeks and fall in her own hair and on his pale skin, as she just embraced him gently, wanting to utter words of comfort – having no words to offer. As the vampire quietly broke down, revealing once again the tender, loving nature that she had tried to deny so many times, it became real to her just how terribly she had hurt him.  
   
After a few moments, she gently pushed him back. She watched as he swallowed reflexively, his jaw setting as he steeled himself for another rejection – because that was what he had assumed she was doing, when she ceased the warm embrace she had held him in.  
   
But with a softly spoken Latin word, Buffy reached behind him and gently took off the handcuffs she had used to bind him, dropping them to the floor – and slowly took both of his hands in hers, pulling them around in front of him and holding them between them, still clasped in her own.  
   
Spike stared down at their joined hands in front of him for a long moment, a frown of confusion forming on his tear-drenched face, before he slowly looked up at her, a tentative, apprehensive question in his eyes.  
   
“Buffy…what…?” he whispered, shaking his head slightly – his words falling away in wonder as she shook her head, drawing one hand up close to lay a feather-light, tender kiss in his palm as she turned it toward her, holding his gaze as she gently pressed his hand to her cheek.  
   
She stared at him for a long moment, a solemn, sorrowful look in her shimmering emerald eyes, as she shook her head slightly and whispered, “I’ve been so blind…”  
   
His eyes widened, as he tried to process her words, tried to think what they might mean. It seemed far too good to be true that she might be offering him what it sounded as if she was offering him.  
   
He had to know.  
   
“Buffy – what – what is this?” he whispered, swallowing back his apprehension, desperately wanting to yield to his hope.  
   
She released his hands, shifting her body nearer to him, so that their folded knees were touching each other, as she put one hand around his waist to rest gently on his back, her other hand rising to lie at the back of his neck, as she gazed into his eyes.  
   
“This is me…and you…without the games,” she whispered, a new certainty in her voice, as she raised her lips slowly to his, holding his gaze until the last possible second. “Just us,” she affirmed, as she kissed him…  
   
He had never felt anything to rival the power of that kiss.  
   
It was tender, and intimate, as she allowed herself to yield to him in a way she never had before, her arms sliding around him and pulling him close to her as she gently caressed his mouth with her tongue, taking her time, thoroughly, lovingly, cherishing every second, until the kiss ended, all too soon.  
   
She pulled away from him without a word, standing slowly to her feet – and he watched her closely in wonder, the fearful question still in his eyes. She did not look at him as she picked up the handcuffs, then moved a few feet away to pick up the blindfold, and walked to her nightstand, putting them in the tiny drawer beside her bed and shutting it firmly, deliberately.  
   
She turned to face him, a soft, serious expression of affection on her face as she met his eyes. Never breaking eye contact with him, she began to step slowly toward him, as she did, slowly unbuttoning her blouse, and shrugging it off her shoulders, allowing it to slip to the floor.  
   
Spike’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, feeling the erection that had weakened under the pain of her cruel words, slowly swelling to life again.  
   
The hint of a smile – soft, tender, not the least bit mocking – began on Buffy’s lips, a flash of something tentative and perhaps a bit insecure in her emerald eyes, as her bra went the way of her shirt – and there were only a few short feet separating them.  
   
A feeling of apprehension came over the vampire, and by the time the skirt fell to the floor, his eyes were focused on hers again, missing the show entirely – searching her eyes for some sign of her intent.  
   
If this was just another game…just the cruelest one yet…  
   
“Buffy…” he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick with emotion. “…what are you…what…”  
   
His voice trailed off as her hand rose to tenderly stroke the back of her fingers down the side of his anxious, uncertain face.  
   
“Giving you me,” she whispered, her eyes solemn and sincere as she returned his gaze, trying to reassure him with the warmth and tenderness in her smile and in her voice. “Like you wanted…like *I* want…”  
   
His unnecessary breath was stolen away with the next words she uttered, in a low whisper of love and desire.  
   
“Make love to me, Spike.”


	14. Chapter 14

Spike was not sure if his trembling legs would hold his body up, as the golden goddess before him slowly closed the distance between them. His longing eyes were focused not on the vision of feminine beauty that was her body, completely exposed to his perusal – but rather, his gaze was fastened on her eyes, searching, hoping, though scarcely daring to.

“Buffy,” he whispered, barely audible, as she reached him, her hands moving to rest gently on his hips. “Buffy, love…please…” He was shaking his head, and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard as he struggled vainly to keep some hold on his emotions. “Please…”

Buffy frowned slightly, lifting one hand to tilt his chin up slightly, her solemn emerald eyes seeking his averted gaze. “What?” she gently pressed him, her hand falling back to his waist, sliding around behind him to pull him closer to her. “Please what, Spike?”

He did not open his eyes, despite her efforts, and kept his arms awkwardly at his sides, refusing to touch her, yet -- though he did yield to her hand and allow her to raise his head. The pain she saw in his expression nearly took her breath – and she knew that had she been able to see those unbearably expressive eyes, it would have broken her heart, as he whispered his achingly desperate response.

“Don’t…don’t ask me to do this. If you don’t mean it, Buffy…I don’t think I could…I would…” He hesitated, before he finished on a soft, barely heard breath. “It would break me, Buffy…please…”

Her hands froze on his waist, her body going very still, and Spike held his breath, his heart sinking with every moment that passed without a response to his poignant plea.

*Here it is…she doesn’t mean it…she’s gonna back out…*

“Spike,” she whispered finally. “Look at me.”

After a moment’s consideration, the vampire looked reluctantly up, his wide, tearful eyes desperately searching hers for some sign of falsehood, any indication that there was some ulterior motive behind the tenderness she was showing him in this moment.

“I mean it, Spike,” Buffy assured him, holding his gaze unflinchingly, her hands unconsciously pulling him nearer to her. “I *really* mean it. I – I do have feelings for you. I don’t know if it’s love – yet – but I know this. I *want* you to make love to me, Spike. I’m tired of the games, too.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his shaking hands slowly moving to rest at her waist, as his hopes began to rise, and he began to allow himself to believe the words he had longed to hear for so long. He could see no trace of deception, no guilt or sign of secrecy, in her eyes; heard nothing but sincerity in her soft, longing voice. Perhaps, finally, she had realized what it was that she really wanted, and was ready to accept it.

Or perhaps -- he was only seeing and hearing what he wanted to see and hear.

“Buffy,” he said softly, in a trembling, earnest voice, “I – I love you…so much…” The words were an honest declaration, and a desperate plea, as he laid his emotions bare to her mercy once more, and silently begged her not to use them to crush his heart.

She was silent for a long moment, though she did not look away, did not attempt to withdraw from him, as she had so many times before at those words. There was a wealth of mingled emotions in her wide, open eyes, as she opened her mouth to speak, hesitating over her response.

“I know,” she whispered, in a tone of compassion and affection, with a note of apology that she could not return the sentiment – yet.

But her words actually meant much more to him than she had expected them too. He did not expect her to tell him she loved him – not yet. There was no way she was ready for that. But just the fact that she was finally willing to acknowledge the depth, the truth of what he felt for her – to admit that it was *real* -- that he really loved her – said so much, and filled his heart with joy and relief.

It was enough that she was giving him what he had asked for – the chance to *love* her.

When she took his hand and led him toward the bed, he followed her, his heart in his throat, his breath coming hard and fast with anticipation, as his mind raced with wondering what this would mean for them.

But then, she had released his hand, and lay down on the bed, gazing up at him with a tenderness, a warm invitation in her eyes that stole all other thoughts from his mind, as she waited for him to accept the gift she had just offered him.

“Buffy,” he whispered, shaking his head slowly in disbelief that it was real, that this was actually happening. “God, you’re so beautiful, love…” His voice held a near-reverence, as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, a single hand trailing lightly, barely touching across the silky skin of her golden stomach.

“Spike!” she gasped, her head rolling back as his hand reached the part of her body that was now aching, throbbing for his touch. “Oh, *Spike*! The way you touch me – God, I want you!” There was an awe, an amazed disbelief in her breathless voice, her words ending in a little cry of pleasure as his fingers found their goal – only to steal away again, offering her only a torturous temptation – a mere hint of what was to come.

She had offered herself to him this night – and he meant to take his time, to make the most of the gift.

A frustrated whimper of need rose in her throat, as he gently tipped her head back with his hand, his lips finding hers and slowly, thoroughly kissing her, as his hand slid down across her shoulder to gently knead the smooth, firm flesh of her breast. As he deepened the kiss, his thumb rubbing slowly in a circle around the hard peak of her nipple, her lips broke away from his as she gasped for breath.

“Spike – need you…” she moaned softly, a desperate need in her voice as her hands fell low on his back, sliding down to cup his buttocks, tugging him urgently on top of her, and toward the source of her need. “…please…need you…inside me…*please*…”

A low chuckle rose in the vampire’s throat, as a slow smile of pride and pleasure spread across his face. The reminder of how easily he could affect her, how much he could make her need him, gave his confidence a healthy boost that it needed at the moment.

“Patience, pet,” he murmured in a voice like warm honey, as he drew back slightly, rising up off of her on his knees, to trail his hands slowly, seductively, down her sides, and back up again. “This is about me – loving you…not about the bloody act itself…you asked me to…so I’m gonna show you, love…”

“Show me what?” Buffy gasped, breathless and desperate already, a note of frustration in her voice at the sweet torture of his hands, all over her, but not touching any place that she actually *wanted* him to.

His smile widened slightly, as his eyes found hers again – and once again she lost her breath.

“Love,” he repeated softly, a bemused expression on his face, as if he had already stated the answer, as he lowered his mouth to kiss her again.

Spike took his time, gently, thoroughly exploring her body, his hands and mouth slow and worshipful as he did everything in his power to prove to her what she so often tried to prevent him from revealing – the depth of his love.

Many nights he had longed for this, had attempted to take things in this direction. But at the first moment that she began to feel his tenderness, his adoration – anything besides the raw, animal passion and shock of feeling that she believed she had sought him out for – she would withdraw, attacking with words or fists, until he had reached a point where he never dared to attempt such intimacy anymore.

Until tonight.

She had asked him to make love to her – and he was going to show her all the things he’d been feeling, all the powerful emotions she had forced him to suppress, for the last two long, aching, lonely years.

He drew it out, wanting to savor every moment, using only his hands and mouth to pull her gently to the edge of fulfillment, then easing back from it, again and again, until she begged him, pleaded for release – pleaded for the connection and intimacy that she had refused him so many times.

And – because he *did* love her – he could not withhold it from her for long.

Finally, he raised up over her, his own throbbing, longing member hovering over her sodden, desperate core. He was completely still for a long moment, and her wide, hazy eyes sought his out in a silent, urgent question, wondering desperately why he was waiting, when her need was so great, when she was hovering on the edge of explosion.

Once her eyes were focused on his, he smiled softly, his adoration clear in every facet of his expression, as he whispered slowly, tenderly, emphasizing every word, “I…love…you…Buffy…” as he plunged downward, burying himself inside of her heat.

The strangled cry of shock and pleasure that he heard in his ear only increased his own pleasure, and he let himself believe that it was as much due to his words as to the increasingly urgent motion of his body, driving intensely deeper inside her, seeking the completion, the full acceptance, that she was offering – desperately hoping that she would not withdraw it now, once she had given it.

If she did – he knew it would kill him.

“Spike…want you…I need you…God, *Spike*…!” Buffy gasped, her hands clutching at his back, clasping him to her in a desperate embrace that spoke of her need…and…possibly more?

“Love you, Buffy…love you…” he whispered, as with one final thrust that brought a hoarse scream of fulfilled pleasure from the Slayer’s lips, he emptied himself inside her, and they collapsed on the bed, clinging to each other, gasping for breath, and shaking from the intensity of their union.

As the haze began to slowly pass, Spike raised his head from her shoulder, his eyes seeking hers, anxious, uncertain. She was smiling softly up at him, a look of utter contentment in her shining emerald eyes.

“Buffy,” he whispered, swallowing back a hard knot of tears that had risen in his throat – though he could not tell if they were caused by happiness or sheer terror. “Buffy, I love you so much…”

He could see a wealth of confusion in her eyes, watched with a sinking heart as her smile faded slightly. But then, she opened her mouth to speak – and some glimmer of something in her eyes told him beyond all doubt what it was that she was about to say.

“Spike…I lo…”

The soft whispered words were gently cut off by trembling fingers against her lips. She looked up to see the fear, the uncertainty in the vampire’s eyes, as he shook his head slightly.

“What?” she mouthed silently beneath his hand, a gentle concern in her eyes.

He was silent for a moment, his breath coming hard and fast as he struggled for the courage to speak – to stop the words he had longed so desperately to hear.

“Buffy – if you say it…please…” His voice broke slightly, and he lowered his head, closing his eyes, struggling for control of the rampant emotions coursing through him and threatening to consume him.

Her hand rose to gentle brush away a tear that found its way past the barrier of his closed eyes and down his cheek. “Spike…” she whispered again, with a tender urgency, not comprehending why her yet unspoken words would cause him pain. “…*what*?”

He swallowed back a sob that rose in his throat before drawing in a gasping breath in preparation to speak. His eyes still closed, his head still bowed, he whispered softly, “If you don’t mean it, love – please don’t say it…*please*…” He paused, dropping his head to her shoulder for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

Her hand rose automatically to rest at the back of his head, stroking comfortingly through the tousled blonde curls, her eyes wide and staring at the ceiling as the impact of what he was saying hit her – the gravity of his simple plea.

After a moment, he raised his head and continued softly, with a bit more control, though still not looking at her, “You asked me…earlier…what I was afraid of.” He was silent for another long moment, before troubled, fearful blue eyes suddenly met hers, and she found that she could not look away as he went on.

“It’s this, Buffy. It’s us – sharing this – you…saying it…and then…waking up…and you’re…you’re…” His hoarse, aching whisper trailed off, and he looked away again, the pain of the scenario he feared – had lived through so many times – overwhelming him again.

“Gone,” Buffy finished for him in a soft, compassionate whisper.

He nodded as he lowered her head to press his face against her shoulder again. “Please,” he whispered, broken, desperate, “please, Buffy…please don’t…”

She was silent for a long moment, considering. Finally, her hand at the back of his head stilled, gentle fingers tugging slightly to urge him to look up as she spoke.

“Spike,” she whispered soothingly. “Hey…Spike…”

He reluctantly looked at her, his eyes wide and filled with a desperate hope mingled with terror.

She gave him a soft, reassuring smile, as she whispered in a voice of tender, compassionate reproof, “Do you trust me or not?”

He studied her expression for a long, breathless moment – before nodding slowly, a soft, barely audible whisper escaping his lips.

“I do.”

She nodded slowly in approval, her smile widening slightly as she held his gaze, warmth and affection in her own. “Then listen to me, Spike,” she instructed gently but firmly, her hand shifting from his hair to tenderly caress his face.

“I -- *love* -- you.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, then slowly filled with tears of joy as he drew in a shaking, gasping breath – and his shoulders began to shake with sobs of relief, of powerful joy and other emotions that he could not have named, as he collapsed into her embrace, his head buried in her neck.

No other words were necessary, as the Slayer just held him close to her, gently soothing the fears that had been consuming him, cradling the vulnerable vampire in her arms, until he fell into a peaceful, sated sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Buffy stood beside the bed, staring down at the sleeping vampire who lay there, a peaceful, contented smile on his lips as he slept. She could hardly believe that he had remained asleep, through the preparations she had been making during the last few minutes.  
  
Preparations to make right the damage she had done to him by allowing things to go this far; preparations to take what he had given her and use it to make him give up on her once and for all…  
  
To do what she had brought him here to do in the first place…  
  
To leave him.  
  


The fact that his sharp vampire senses had not caused him to awaken as she had gently rolled him off of her, onto his back, and bound him to the bed again with the handcuffs, was surprising to her. Even when she had lifted his head to replace the blindfold over his eyes, his sleep had not been disturbed – and as much as she tried to deny it, she knew what his deep, peaceful sleep despite her actions spoke of.

His trust in her.

Whatever she was doing to him, even in his sleep, his senses revealed only *her* presence – no one else’s – and he therefore accepted that he was safe, trusting her not to hurt him.

He never even stirred, his expression peaceful and untroubled, blissfully oblivious – no doubt lost in dreams of the night before, when she had finally declared her love for him, the love that she knew now was real and genuine, fulfilling the dreams he had longed to come true, for the past two years.

Only to dash them now.

Gazing down through a sheen of tears at the breathtaking form that she longed for, even now – remembering his tender, heartfelt declaration of devotion the night before – Buffy felt the edges of her resolve beginning to crumble under the sweet weight of the memory.

*No,* she told herself in a mental tone of angry frustration. *No, you have to do this! You have to show him once and for all that you don’t deserve his trust – or his love! What you’re about to do just proves it – he deserves so much better than what you have left to offer him.*

Buffy took the tiny silver key in her hand and reached down to press it into the sleeping vampire’s palm, gently closing his fingers around it – allowing her hand to cradle his a moment longer than she had to. She had removed the spell from the enchanted handcuffs a few moments earlier, allowing them to be opened with a key like any other handcuffs, and by anyone.

She would not have the chance to tell Spike about the change, the significance of the key he would find in his hand.

She would not have to. He was smart; he would figure it out.

She envisioned the scene that would take place in this room a few hours from now, when Spike woke up, a slow, deep ache building in her chest as the images played out in her mind.

When he awoke, he would probably call for her, as soon as he realized the position he was in again. At first, he would probably try not to believe that she had actually left him there – that she could do that to him, after what they had shared – the fears he had confessed to her – the night before. He would probably try to wait it out, try to believe that she was coming back for him – that this was just another test of his trust.

Except – it was not.

In time, he would come to the painful realization that she had actually left him there, with no plans of coming back to him. The fact that he was in *her* room would not ever serve to protect him from her desertion. She had it all planned out so that she would not have to return to the room until after *he* would have to leave.

It was so viciously, chillingly simple.

She had taken the deepest fears that he had confessed to her, making himself more utterly vulnerable to her than he had ever been, and was using those fears to destroy his hope of ever knowing her love – to make him see that she did not even know *how* to love anymore.

*Shouldn’t he have known it by now, anyway?* she thought with bitter self-loathing. *After the way I’ve treated him…*

He would know it by morning.

Buffy had a plan. Leave the house now, go patrol until morning. Work off some of the frustration at her own state of hopeless screwed-up-ness – her pain at giving up the only thing in her life at the moment that brought her any shred of happiness – her utter rage at herself for doing what she was about to do to someone who loved her so completely, so purely, with such a breathtaking intensity that, for a few moments each night, actually made her *glad* to be alive again.

And she was throwing it away.

She had an early shift at the Doublemeat Palace that day, so she would be kept away from the house from the moment she left – any moment now – until that afternoon. Surely he couldn’t hold out *that* long. Surely he would give up on her, release himself from the handcuffs, and leave her home – never to waste his time with the girl who had so cruelly shattered his heart again.

It was vicious, and brutal, and would break his heart.

But not as much as spending the rest of *her* life, loving someone who was no longer capable of real love.

No – she had to leave him.

She resolutely turned her back, moving toward the door to her bedroom – only to freeze in the doorway. She couldn’t seem to make herself take that step, out of the room and into the hallway.

*Go on. Just go patrol. That’s easy enough, right? And when you get back – he’ll be gone. He’ll have had to come to terms with the fact that you don’t love him – that you only said it to hurt him now – and he’ll be shocked and devastated – into moving on. He’ll be gone, and you’ll *both* have to move on. Just go – he’ll be gone when you get home.*

He would have to be – she had deliberately left her bedroom curtains open.

At the very latest, at sunrise, he would have no choice, as he felt the deadly hour approaching, to accept that she had left him there, and was not coming back; to free himself, and thus acknowledge the breaking of the trust he had held for her.

He *would* free himself, when it came to that – wouldn’t he?

Suddenly worried, against her will, Buffy found her legs turning her around, leading her across the room and to the chair need the foot of the bed. She brushed tears from her eyes, clearing her vision to take in one last, yearning look at the amazing creature that, soulless and dead, loved her more deeply and freely than anyone ever had in her life.

*I really don’t have to go *yet*,* she told herself. *There’s plenty of time. Just – a few more minutes…*

***********************************

Hours passed in sweet dreams that had become his reality, as Spike slept deeply, utterly exhausted from the emotional roller coaster the Slayer had put him through that night. But gradually, the bed began to cool in the absence of Buffy’s warm body – and the blonde vampire gradually became aware, as he drifted back toward wakefulness, that he was alone in the bed.

Drowsily he moved to reach for her, to pull her back to him – only to find that he could not move his arms. He awakened fully then, with the troubling realization that he was once again tied to the bed. He opened his eyes to try to find Buffy…

*Right. Back to *this* game, then…*

“Buffy?” he called softly in a quiet but calm voice, still hoarse and heavy with sleep.

The Slayer in the chair froze – though it was an unnecessary reaction. She had realized a couple of hours ago that Spike could very well wake up before she could find the strength to go – a task that seemed to be getting harder by the moment – and had employed one of the spells Willow had shown her to mask her presence from the vampire’s senses.

He could not hear any sound she made, smell her, or even see her, had the blindfold not made that point moot, anyway. There was no way that he could possibly know that she was….

“I know you’re here, love.”

That rich, warm voice, full of such intense desire and affection, filled her ears, and Buffy stood up quickly, eyes wide with surprise. How could he possibly…?

“Thought I’d forget that little trick of Red’s from the graveyard, did you? Not likely, pet. I know you’re still here with me. You wouldn’t leave me. Not – not after last night…”

Buffy felt her heart go still for a moment, at the calm, simple assurance mingled with the emotion in his voice. After everything she had put him through, and not only tonight, he still had such a confidence in her feelings – such a trust in her – her *goodness* - as to believe, in spite of what his senses were telling him, that she had kept her promise of the night before, and had not left him, as he had begged her not to.

And the funny thing was – she *was* still there, wasn’t she? she realized with a bitter feeling of tragic irony. She had stayed here for hours, just watching him sleep, after the hours they had already spent together this night -- the sun would be up in a very short time, and she needed to be gone when he unchained himself and got up.

And yet here she sat -- somehow unable to tear herself away from his side.

That thought spurred her to action, and she headed with determination toward the door. The fact that he still trusted her was reason enough for her to get on with this. Because, for him to still place so much faith in her, when she was capable of doing to him what she was about to, was terribly dangerous – for *him*.

“Buffy?” The slightly questioning note in his voice halted her, a few feet from the door, as she turned to look at him, wondering briefly if her spell had failed – if he really *knew* that she was still there.

His next words soothed that fear – but weighted her heart with the heaviness of guilt.

“I know you’re still trying to make me think you’re not here, love…I don’t expect you to respond, or show yourself – not yet – but I just wanna tell you,” Spike went on, in a quiet, conversational tone touched with a note of awed gratitude. “I never thought – I mean…”

Buffy watched with wide, tear-filled eyes, as Spike swallowed hard in an effort to control his powerful emotions, before going on with a soft, self-deprecating little smile.

“I know I don’t deserve you, love. I know I’m nothing but a monster, and I never expected you to love me. But – just to hear you say it – to know that you…” His voice grew shaky, then trailed off toward the end, as he fought to regain his composure again before finishing softly, “Thank you, Buffy. You have no idea how much – how much it means…”

Buffy stood there, very still, as ingle word from his heart-felt statement reverberating in her mind.

*Monster…*he’s* the monster? I’m the one who’s deliberately breaking his heart! I’m the one who’s capable of telling someone I love them, only to use those words to devastate their dreams and make their worst fears come true! Human – demon – whatever I am now -- *I’m* the monster!*

*****************************

Buffy did not respond to his words – but Spike knew she was there.

She *had* to be.

He had poured out his heart to her the night before, given her his body, his mind, everything that he had – placed it in her hands for her to do with as she would. And she had given him her love in return. He had confessed to her his deepest fears – and he knew that if she truly loved him as she said, she could not then proceed to make those fears reality.

No – she was there. He knew she was.

The tiny silver key he was absently turning in his hand was proof to him that this was simply another test. She had masked her presence, like she had done back in the graveyard; she was silently waiting, waiting for him to give in – to believe the fearful voices at the edges of his mind, whispering dubious warnings – to believe that she had abandoned him, and release himself from the handcuffs.

But he knew that the moment he did, she would reveal herself to him, would tell him that he had just proven that he did not trust her, even after her admission of her love for him, and that therefore she *obviously* could not be with him.

It did not really come as a surprise. Buffy had been terrified for so long of the words she had spoken last night – just because she had finally found the strength to say them once did not mean that she would not have panicked second thoughts – and those panicked second thoughts did not mean that she had not meant the words in the first place.

He knew this was not going to be easy for Buffy – but he was willing to do whatever it took to reassure her, to go along with whatever little game she felt was necessary, if only it could convince her that she was safe in giving him her heart.

It was a precious, priceless gift – and he had no intention of relinquishing it.

Yeah. She was just a bit skittish – nervous – needing one last proof of his trust in her.

That was it.

Still – the silence that met his words was, at best, terribly unsettling.

“Buffy?” he repeated her name softly into the silence, but gained no response. He released a quiet sigh of resignation, relaxing back against the bed.

“You know this isn’t necessary, right, pet?” he said after a moment, resignation and gentle understanding mingled in his calm voice. “You know I’m going to pass this bloody test of yours, just like I passed all the others – and you’re gonna see that I *do* trust you, Buffy. With my life. With my heart. I – I’d think you’d know it by now, pet. There’s not a bloody thing I’ve got that I’d withhold from you.”

The poignant, utterly sincere words sent a stab of remorse through Buffy’s heart – but still, she made no move to stop him. He paused, a pensive frown visible on his face, even under the blindfold – and Buffy tried again to make her legs carry her out the door – to no avail, as he began to speak again.

“All right then. If you’re not feeling talkative – I’ll talk. I’ve got a little theory I’d like to try out on you, pet. You wanna know what I think this is all about?” Spike asked softly, and Buffy saw the hint of a smirk on his lips, and suddenly knew exactly why.

If she was pretending not to be there, she couldn’t very well stop him from speaking his mind, could she? Whether she wanted to or not, for once she could not interrupt him.

*Get out of here, Buffy!* she told herself, a warning sensation making her stomach roll. She was quite certain she did not want to hear what he had to say.

But she could not make herself move.

“See, I think,” Spike began slowly, his smug smile fading away to a solemn, thoughtful expression. “I think – this isn’t so much about testing *me* - as it is about testing *you*. I’m not the one who’s got a problem trusting you, pet. It’s you. You don’t trust *yourself*.”

He paused again, thinking through his next comment, before he spoke with utter certainty, hitting the mark with deadly accuracy.

“I’m not the one who’s afraid of what you might do -- what you're capable of, pet. You are.”


End file.
